


Always In This Twilight

by ScotlandEvander



Series: Rewritten in Time [7]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Timelines, Crushes, Drama, Fix-It, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Teenagers, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-31
Updated: 2014-01-06
Packaged: 2017-12-31 02:47:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 99,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1026370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScotlandEvander/pseuds/ScotlandEvander
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Now that almost everyone knows Draco's from the future, life ought to be easy. Wrong. The Triwizard Tournament was still taking place, Tom the Not Ghost thing was taking over Draco's spot in Harry's life and these feelings were starting to surface when Draco looked at girls. Oh, how he hadn't missed being fourteen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bleeding Nightmare

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to year four! Yay! *Throws confetti* 
> 
> Wow, time flies. I didn’t think it’d take me over a month to get back to this series, but such is life. 
> 
> So, the usual, this is book four of the series, Rewritten in Time. Be advised, it’d be best to begin at the start (Regrets Collect Like Old Friends) and go from there. Oh, and Over The Rainbow might be something to read as well, as it might be needed more as we get into more of that stuff now that several key characters in that story are BACK! But, as always, it is up to you what you read and don’t read. 
> 
> Here ends author’s note.

**Disclaimer: If you know it, it is likely from _Goblet of Fire_ and I fail to own that. **

* * *

He awoke to a scream. His first thought was it belonged to him, yet as he became more aware, Draco Malfoy knew it was not him who had screamed. Sitting up swiftly, he peered through the darkness towards the open door of the room he occupied at Grimmauld Place. He slowly got out of bed, crept out of the room, and started up the stairs towards where Harry Potter was staying. Draco pushed the door open and found Harry sitting up on the bed in the center of the room, panting. 

“Harry?” Draco softly asked, watching his best friend attempt to get his breathing under control. “What happened?”

“Bad. Dream,” Harry panted, hand rubbing his forehead.

Draco felt a jolt of fear surge through him at the sight of Harry rubbing the lighting bolt scar. It was a familiar sight— first year when Voldemort had been living in Professor Quirrell’s head Harry could often be seen rubbing his scar. Logically, Draco knew Voldemort could not be anywhere near Grimmauld Place. Narcissa Malfoy had made sure all the enchantments were up to date on the house and active before she had moved him and herself into the house weeks ago.

They worked.

Harry hadn’t been able to see the house and had no idea it was even there, hidden between eleven and thirteen till he was actually inside the place. 

“Lanta knew what she was doing,” Sirius had commented, staring at the spell Narcissa had used on top of all the other spells on the joint. (Orion Black was a very paranoid man and put a ton of charms on the place to hide it from everyone. Narcissa had added a few others.) 

Harry had been unable to see the house till he signed some sort of enchanted document that had been spelled with one of the many spells Atlanta D. Black (they usually called her Addy as not confuse her with the current Atlanta Black) had invented— likely along help with TR DeVinette (also known as Tom Riddle the Not Ghost Who Was NOT Voldemort in Any Way). 

Draco’s head was still trying to wrap around that one. It was still strange each time he saw Tom (who he saw more often then he liked thanks to Harry having taken a liking to the not ghost, but not alive…thing). 

“Harry? What’s wrong?” Draco said, walking across the room towards the bed Harry was seated upon. 

“Dream. Vivid,” Harry muttered, still rubbing his forehead. “But, he’s not here. He’s…I don’t know. He was with some blond guy.”

Draco clutched the side of the bed. 

His father was blond. His father was still somewhere in France. Draco hadn’t honestly kept track since the man had gone after his mother had told Lucius Malfoy to get out of her sight. 

Maybe he ought to inquire where the man had gotten off to? 

“I’d never seen him before,” Harry went on, burying his face in his hands.

Something within Draco unclenched and he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Draco sat down on the bed and watched Harry rub his face. 

“What’s wrong? What happened?”

Harry kept his face hidden as he spoke. “I was in a rotting room in a place that used to be posh. Voldemort was in a chair facing a dying fire and talking to the blond guy. I couldn’t really understand them, but they were talking about the World Cup, Wormtail, someone named Bertha and Hilderbatch.”

“Hilderbatch?” Draco asked, his voice hitching. “Atlanta’s mother?”

“I don’t know. They never said if the person was male or female,” Harry admitted. “I didn’t get the full conversation. I got snipits. Someone is going to the World Cup, the blond guy wanted to kill Wormtail, Bertha had told someone something and I don’t know what they said about Hilderbatch, as I just kept hearing the name. It was like I was walking through concrete soup.”

“Excuse me?” Draco asked. 

Harry scrubbed his face with both hands.

“I couldn’t move easily, but if I really wanted to I could wade,” Harry said. “Anyways, words filtered through whatever I was seeing things through.”

“Why’d you scream?”

“Voldemort killed someone. I don’t know who. Couldn’t see a face,” Harry admitted. 

He lifted his face, rubbing his scar. From the glimpses Draco caught as Harry rubbed, it looked raw, red and irritated. Draco grabbed Harry’s hand and said, “Stop. You’re…irritating it.”

“What do you mean?”

“It looks angry.”

“It feels…vindictive,” Harry admitted. “I don’t think I’ve felt vindictive before. Why do I feel vindictive?”

“I— I don’t know,” Draco admitted, dropping Harry’s hand. 

The two boys sat in silence, the only noises coming from creaks and groans the house made. 

“Do you want to talk to Sirius or my mother?” Draco asked.

“What can they do? Sirius has been staring at my forehead in a peculiar manner since I got here,” Harry muttered. “Sometimes he looks at it like it’s leaking.”

Draco frowned. “Leaking?”

“Yeah. His eyes trail around it like it’s following a pattern or something. Sometimes Atlanta looked at me in a similar manner,” Harry admitted. “But, it wasn’t as creepy— as this was when she was still strange and singing all the time.”

“Oh.”

Draco had a good idea what was leaking out of Harry’s head. 

“Remember Atlanta mentioned the scar had magic attached to it?” 

Harry nodded. 

“May I? I can feel magic, just not see it like I guess they can.”

“Oh,” Harry breathed, realization dawning upon him. “Go a head. It doesn’t hurt. It just…throbs oddly.” 

Draco reached a hand up slowly to Harry’s forehead. He didn’t need to get close before he felt something dark, sinister and very un-Harry-like. He could feel the un-Harry like magic curling and oozing out of Harry’s forehead. 

Draco shivered.

“It is leaking something…bad.”

“Bloody hell.”

Harry leapt out of bed, hurried out of the room, and down towards Draco’s room. By the time Draco caught up with him, Harry had a pot of Flu Powder in his hand and was taking a pinch.

“What are you doing?” the portrait above the fireplace demanded. “It is not time for children to go calling.”

“Shut up,” Harry snapped.

He got into the fireplace (which magically grew to fit him) and threw a fist full of Floo powder at his feet.

“Flat three, Seventeen Park Quad,” Harry shouted, twisting and twirling out of sight in emerald flames.

“Well, your mother won’t like that one bit,” the painting sniped.

“Oh, shut up,” Draco snarled. 

Grabbing his dressing gown, Draco headed downstairs. Even though it was darker than night in the house, as Draco headed down the stairs towards the ground floor, he saw dawn was nearing. The sky was growing lighter outside the long windows next to the door. Draco paused for a moment, peering out into the empty square across the street from the house. The neighborhood was quite run down and rather shabby. Draco was surprised his mother willingly was living within Muggle London in what wasn’t the best area.

“Draco?”

Draco turned to find Sirius standing behind him. 

Sirius looked better these days. He’d had a hair cut, his face was starting to fill out, and he was dressed in proper clothing as opposed to the rags he’d been in the first time Draco had met the man at the start of summer. The haunted look in his eyes, though, remained. Draco knew it would. It remained with all of those who were exposed to dementors for long periods of time. Where most people went insane after being exposed for as long and as often as Sirius had been, the man had a solid grip on his sanity— even without all the aid of the Mind Healers he’d had since he’d found freedom. 

“What are you doing up?” Sirius inquired, holding what appeared to be a cup of tea.

“Harry had a nightmare, freaked out, and went to see Tom. I knew you’d be awake, so I figured I ought to let you know,” Draco said in a rush. 

The older man didn’t often sleep more than a few hours each night and was often up prowling around at odd hours. 

Sirius dropped the tea cup. It shattered on the floor, causing all the various painting in the entry to wake up. 

“What was it about? Why did he go see Tom?”

“He said it was about Voldemort, a blond guy and he was in concrete soup,” Draco reported as he heard his mother’s bedroom door open over the din of the paintings jabbering. 

“Huh?” Sirius asked, knitting his eyebrows together under his wavy hair that was going in all directions. 

Narcissa Malfoy appeared at the very top of the stairs, looking over the railing.

“What are you two doing up at this hour? Sirius, what are you doing? You’re bleeding.”

“I am?” Sirius asked, looking down. 

The cup had cut up his bare feet. 

“I am,” he stated, honestly looking surprised.

“Draco, what is going on?” Narcissa asked, coming down the stairs gracefully.

“Harry had a nightmare,” Draco said. “He went to see…Remus.”

Narcissa didn’t know about Tom. Harry and Draco figured it was best not to tell her about the not ghost like thing that was quickly becoming Harry’s new best friend. 

Draco’s jaw tightened at this thought, but he quickly pushed it away. 

“Why would he go see Remus?” Narcissa asked, reaching the ground floor. “Sirius, sit down.”

Sirius stared around the entry till he spotted a bench near the hat rack sitting near the door. He sat down on the bench after picking his way over the remains of the tea cup. 

“I don’t know. Because he was the only competent Defense professor we’ve had?” Draco offered, shifting uneasily. 

Sirius also looked rather uneasy. “I’m sure he’ll explain when he comes home.”

“You could simply tell me the address,” Narcissa huffed. “I don’t know why you are so secretive. I do not plan to harm Remus in any manner. Harry’s spent quite a bit of time over there. Has Remus even spoken to you yet?”

Sirius cast his eyes to the ground. “My feet hurt.”

Narcissa pressed her lips together, but waved her wand. Sirius’ feet mended and the pieces of the tea cup rearranged themselves back into a proper cup. Narcissa grabbed the cup and vanished the spilled tea. 

“Did Harry mention what the nightmare was about?”

Narcissa’s lips were pressed into a thin line.

“Voldemort,” Draco replied. “He was pretty freaked out. He though, er, Remus might know something, since, uh, he’s supposed to be a Dark Art’s expert. Something with, er, his scar.”

Sirius looked like he was dying to ask questions, but quickly went back to studying the floor as if it were the most fascinating thing on the planet. Narcissa frowned, holding the teacup on her finger by the handle. 

“Understandable,” she whispered. She looked between the two males and sighed. “Well, might as well get up and start the day. Dobby!”

Dobby cracked into existence.

“Yes, Mistress Narcissa?”

“We’ll be having breakfast rather early. Only three of us at the moment,” she said. 

“Yes, ma’am.”

Dobby cracked off.

“I’m going to send Remus an owl,” she said, turning and going back up the stairs. “Breakfast will be in twenty. Be dressed. I don’t need you two lounging around in your night things.”

Sirius and Draco didn’t move till Narcissa had vanished upstairs. Draco turned back to his cousin.

“Shouldn’t we tell her?” Sirius asked. “I feel weird lying to her. And Tom can read that book she wants read.”

Draco looked at the man in question.

“Never mind. You’re right. Best not tell her. She’ll just freak out.” 

Sirius stood up and ran off before Draco could demand he tell him what book Tom could read that no one else could. Without anything else to do, Draco went upstairs to get dressed. 

* * *

Tom was fast asleep. 

Till he no longer was. 

“Don’t scream.”

There was a hand over his mouth. 

This was strange for a wide array of reasons, one being no one other than Addy Black was able to touch him. Not even Atlanta Black could touch Tom, as her magic was too different from his to be a match as Addy’s had been. 

Thus, there should not be a hand over his mouth, nor a hand on his shoulder pressing him down to the bed beneath him. (The bed had been imbued with Addy’s magic for all time, thus making it solid to Tom, who wasn’t a ghost, but wasn’t actually alive. He was something between.) 

“Tom, will you calm down?”

Tom stopped struggling and put the facts together.

Someone had woken him up before dawn. (Tom was not a morning person.)

Someone was holding him down. (Abnormal.)

The someone was also male.

Conclusion: it must be Harry Potter, the Green Eyed Menace, as his friend Draco often referred to him if he wasn’t insisting Harry was the Insane One. Or the Boy-With-A-Death-Wish.

The hand was removed from Tom’s mouth and he blinked the sleep away from his eyes. Sure enough, the light from the Muggle street outside that bled into Tom’s room revealed Harry Potter, disheveled and sleep mussed standing next to the bed. However, besides the fact he’d clearly arrived at the flat straight from sleeping, the thing that jolted Tom the most was the appearance of the scar etched on Harry’s forehead from where Voldemort’s Killing Curse had failed to do its intended purpose. 

Tom had been fixated upon the scar from the first moment he’d seen Harry through Atlanta’s eyes when she brought him to school after winter break the year before. It was rather weird and uncomfortable traveling with Atlanta— her magic was similar, but not really enough to make travel through that means comfortable. He still did it as it was better than being stuck in the flat he’d been all but trapped within for the last thirteen years. 

He had also gotten to see Harry Potter in the flesh. The pair had been writing for almost a year by the time Tom had managed to finally see the Boy-Who-Lived in person after the boy had used his translation spell to translate something from Parseltounge to English. 

That alone had gotten Tom’s attention. The fact it was Harry Potter only increased Tom’s curiosity. Writing to him had started out as a distraction from his somewhat dull life, but had turned into something more. 

Harry Potter lived up to everything Tom had heard about the child and everything he’d come to expect from their exchanges through the post. 

Harry was mischievous, had a hero complex, and was humble yet still rather secretly clever. He looked exactly like his father, yet had his mother’s eyes and more of her character. (Thank god.) 

The horrific thing about the child, though, was the scar on his forehead. It swam with foreign magic. It polluted the child’s magic, tainted everything about him. When Tom had finally met Harry in person at the start of the summer, he had touched the scar.

Actually touched another person for the first time in almost fifteen years. 

Tom Riddle could touch Harry Potter.

Voldemort couldn’t touch Harry Potter, but Tom Riddle the Not Ghost Thing could. 

“What happened to your scar?” Tom breathed, reaching his hand up slowly. His pale, long finger traced the tendrils of magic seeping out of the angry, red, raised scar on the other boy’s forehead. 

“I have no idea. Draco said it looked irritated,” Harry whispered. “Then, he felt around it. Like you are now.”

“Draco can feel magic?” Tom asked, peering keenly into Harry’s green eyes.

“Uh, yeah.”

“Interesting,” Tom muttered. “I can…this is so…what happened before you woke up? Did you have a nightmare?”

Harry nodded. “Yeah. I’ve had nightmares on an off for as long as I can remember. They were horrible last year— after the dementors.”

Harry shuddered. Tom dropped his hand from the magic leaking out of Harry’s scar— black, dark green and an ugly shade of red. He patted the bed, moving over so Harry could sit next to him. Harry scrambled onto the bed, wrapping his arms around himself once he was seated. 

“Is it cold in here?” Tom inquired. “I can’t tell. I don’t feel heat and cold like a normal being.”

“No. It’s actually warm in here. You left the window open,” Harry said. “When I had nightmares before, the scar never hurt. It’s only hurt first year when he was inside Quirrell’s head.”

Tom frowned, drawing his long legs up and wrapping his arms around his knees. He rested his chin in the spot between his knees and stared into space. 

“This wasn’t a normal nightmare is what you’re trying to say,” Tom concluded.

He heard Harry gulp. “No. Usually…I don’t remember them, other than the green light. That is a feature in all nightmares I’ve ever had. No, this time I remembered muddy details. And green light.”

“What do you mean muddy?” Tom asked, knowing exactly what the green light meant. Harry needn’t say it. 

Harry explained how he was unable to make sense of the details he’d been offered in the nightmare. It sounded vague and rather dreamlike to Tom, only not as it’d clearly been something more with the magic leaking from Harry’s forehead. 

“It was like wading through concrete soup,” Harry finished. “It was solid, hard, yet murky. Like…wet concrete. I could hear some things, make sense sometimes, but other things…”

“Like Hilderbatch,” Tom said, turning his head to look at Harry. He blew his hair out of his eyes (oh, how Tom hated the fact Walburga Black had liked him with his hair too long…he was doomed with hair that fell into his eyes for entirety thanks to her drawing skills, Addy Black’s lack of grace and Cassiopeia’s need to save her experiments).  

“Yeah,” Harry whispered into the fading darkness. He turned towards the large window in Tom’s room and stared out. A warm summer breeze blew through, ruffling Harry’s hair. “I’m mostly freaked out because Draco said it felt like it was leaking and I felt vindictive and…”

Tom dropped his arms, letting his legs go. He turned himself to face Harry.

“And what, Harry,” Tom murmured. 

“Smug. That everything was going as planned. Then…between that and the leaking…and what you mentioned about my scar…”

“I understand,” Tom quietly assured Harry. 

Not sure what to do, Tom remained stationary while watching Harry hug himself while blankly staring into his lap. 

“It’s not leaking as much as it was when you arrived,” Tom offered, wishing to make Harry feel better. 

Harry was special, and not simply because he was Harry Potter the Boy-Who-Lived. Tom didn’t want to analyze his feelings, as it was stupid, but he knew dimly Harry was different from anyone else Tom had met before. 

Tom _felt_ different about Harry than he’d felt about anyone.

It scared him, but Tom refused to be scared of a mere boy. While Tom might appear to be no older than Harry, he was in fact much older. 

Harry rubbed his forehead with his fingers. “The…alien feelings are fading. I mean, I no longer feel…”

“Like Voldemort?”

“Yeah. Am I going crazy?” Harry asked, looking over at Tom with pleading eyes. 

“No.”

Tom reached out and traced the scar, relishing in the fact Harry was solid. He did not understand why Harry was solid, as Harry’s magic, while tainted by Voldemort, was nothing like the magic Tom was made out of. Logically, Harry should not be solid at all to Tom— yet he was. 

It simply added to the mystery of Harry Potter. 

“I wish I knew more about this curse scar,” Harry muttered, letting his head drop forward and into Tom’s hand. Harry was quite warm— warmer than Addy had ever felt. Tom let his hand sit flat on Harry’s forehead. The boy took comfort in the simply touch, letting out a small sigh. “It’s a connection to Voldemort, hence why it makes sense it leaks his magic, but what I don’t understand is how I have…some of the things Voldemort valued.”

Tom swallowed thickly, eyes turning away from his friend. (Another foreign concept, but Tom had been around long enough to accept the fact he had a friend again.) He dropped his hand from the boy’s forehead and felt Harry’s eyes upon him as he stared resolutely out the wall behind Harry.

“Why would he transfer some of his…traits to me when he tried to kill me? That makes no sense, right?”

“Correct.”

“So, what is the scar?” Harry asked. 

Tom felt a hand on his shoulder and looked at the boy on the bed next to him. Harry was looking at him with fright in his oh-so-green eyes and concern on his face.

“You don’t think he can get into my head and make me do things?”

“No!” Tom shouted, starling Harry. “No. You had no control over the nightmare and when it was too horrid you awoke. No, Harry. He cannot possess you. He cannot touch you. I can touch you, but I can’t even travel in your arm like I do with Atlanta. Remember?”

Tom forced himself not to cringe at that memory. Harry was solid to Tom and vice versa, but Tom could not travel with Harry as Atlanta was able to travel with Tom. Tom could hang out in the scar and that was miserable. He couldn’t see, only feel— and it was horrible to feel what was within that cursed scar. Tom had no stomach to even tell Harry what was contained within that scar— it was all vile.  

“Yeah. I just…I don’t like feeling emotions I shouldn’t be feeling,” Harry explained, dropping his hand from Tom’s shoulder. “And this dream…what if it was, uh, like a vision?”

“Do you have Seer blood?” Tom asked dryly, cocking his head to the side and giving Harry a look. 

“Not that I know of,” Harry admitted, grimacing. “But…Draco said this coming school year was when he comes back, right? And I heard Trelawney give that prophecy about…Voldemort’s return.” 

Tom nodded, biting the inside of his lip.

“So, wouldn’t it make sense he’s plotting in his evil lair with his henchmen?”

“Yes, but why would he allow you to witness it?” Tom asked.

Harry let out a sight, flopping backwards. “You’re right.”

Tom crossed his legs, resting his elbows on his bent knees. He placed his chin in his right hand and studied Harry. The scar was doing what it usually did and was no longer weeping dark green or the ugly red colored magic it had been when Harry had arrived. It was the basic black magic that signaled Voldemort.  

“Shouldn’t you be getting back to Black’s house?” Tom inquired seeing Harry looked to be on the brink of falling asleep. 

“Hmmm, yeah,” Harry mumbled. 

Harry fell asleep. Tom sighed, getting out of the bed and padding across the room to the window. He sat down on the sill and stared out into the alley. His window faced east, so he always got the full force of dawn. He placed one leg on the sill and leaned back, watching as the city before him slowly began to wake up. The sun had fully risen by the time Remus rose and the paper and another owl arrived. Tom was about to wake Harry to send him on his way when something shattered in the kitchen. 


	2. Household Shuffle

**Disclaimer: If you know it, it is likely from _Goblet of Fire_ and I fail to own that. **

* * *

“Circe Hilderbatch was missing for months,” Narcissa flatly stated, staring at the front page of the _Daily Prophet_. “It’s been months since she was last seen. Months.” 

There was a huge photo of Circe Hilderbatch— cool, calm, collected. The photo gazed around as if merely bored. Draco watched as the witch really did get bored and left the photo. 

“But…why wouldn’t they report when it was first suspected she was…missing?” Draco asked, now staring at a blank stretch of black background. 

“Maybe that guy— her husband wanted to keep it quiet?” Sirius suggested.

Draco snorted.

“He wouldn’t. He’d make a lot of noise,” Narcissa said, eyeing Draco. 

He quickly looked down, allowing his mind to turn the information the newspaper had brought this morning. 

Harry was having dreams about Voldemort and the one he’d had last night someone had died. Harry might have witnessed Hilderbatch’s death, though maybe not. From the article on the front page, it sounded like she’d been dead for a while before they found her. It was clear, though, a Dark Wizard had tortured her, then killed her.  

“Altair was beyond livid when Dumbledore refused to let him spread the world about Atlanta vanishing from under Dumbledore’s crooked nose last year,” Narcissa went on. “Circe going missing while on a research trip in Albania…no one would have had the power to stop Altair Black from making a ruckus.”

“Maybe he didn’t like her?” Sirius suggested. 

Narcissa sighed, folding the paper up.

“What was she even doing in Albania?” Sirius asked. “What’s there? Besides a bunch of Dark stuff.”

“That is likely why she was there,” Narcissa muttered. “Do you know who Circe Hilderbatch happened to be?”

Narcissa leveled her cousin a look that must have been familiar, because Sirius gave her a rather large grin. 

“Of course I know who she was,” Sirius lied through his teeth. “Clearly she’s married to Altair Black and a member of the Hilderbatch family. They’re pretty important over the pond. Isn’t a Hilderbatch the American equivalent of Minister of Magic?”

“Not any longer, Sirius. That was back in the sixties,” Narcissa sighed, rolling her eyes. “Do you know what Circe specialized in?”

Sirius shook his head. “No.”

“Potions and since the mid 1970s she’s focused on a werewolves. She founded a sanctuary for werewolves in North America. She’s pushed through legislation and bills to protect werewolf rights and worked along side the man who developed Wolfsbane. She made it better. I’m sure she was researching werewolves in Albania.” 

Sirius’ face rearranged itself suddenly. Gone was the slightly arrogant and unemotional expression he’d been wearing. He looked suddenly heartbroken to have lost someone who’d done the work Hilderbatch had strived hard to achieve. 

“What is going to happen to Atlanta?” Draco asked, looking up from his plate. 

“She will remain with her father, Draco. Why would you even ask that? Circe was hardly active in the child’s life,” Narcissa reminded Draco, a look of distain on her face. 

“Oh. Yeah,” Draco covered, shifting. 

“Aunt Narcissa! Sirius!” Harry’s voice sounded loudly from somewhere on the ground floor.

Narcissa got to her feet and hurried out of the dinning room, closely followed by Sirius and Draco. Harry was halfway up the first flight of stairs when he was met by Narcissa, Sirius and Draco. He came to an abrupt stop, his hand clutched around a block. It took Draco a moment to realize the block was Tom’s travel cube.

“What, Harry?” Narcissa asked. “What’s wrong?”

Harry panted for a few seconds till he caught his breath. “Atlanta’s run away from home.”

“What? How do you know?”

“Altair called Remus. Or Flooed him. Is that what you call it? Anyways, Altair was…very mad. I guess Atlanta took the news hard— or something— that her mother…died.”

Harry looked miserable— only in a different sense than he had in the pre-dawn hours of the morning. He and Tom had likely concluded that the Hilderbatch Voldemort and the blond man were discussing was Circe Hilderbatch. 

“Oh, she won’t be able to come here,” Narcissa seemed to realize. “Altair thought she’d go to Remus?”

Harry bit his bottom lip and nodded.

“Remus seemed kind of, uh, upset,” Harry muttered, glancing at Sirius. 

Before anyone could say anything, Sirius was gone.

* * *

Sirius had had his suspicions. He’d had a lot of time on his hands the past twelve years and had thought about many things— one being the mysterious appearance of a girl named Atlanta Black shouting at Malfoy. This Atlanta Black looked eerily like Remus. In the light of day (and after a bath), she no longer looked like Remus at all, and yet she still had several key traits Remus had. 

And it’d ALWAYS bugged Sirius. 

He sat in jail for twelve years, and besides his guilt gnawing at him, it bugged him. The girl had seemed to know Remus and Sirius, knew things before they’d happen. And for some unknown reason, he’d always felt the three of them somehow made up a family.

It was why after his ugly breakup with Remus, he’d gone to her. She was the third wheel in their family unit somehow. 

That girl was dead, but there was another Atlanta Black and Remus was extremely protective of the child. The child also looked kind of like Remus— more like the Atlanta Black who’d appeared in the random hallway in the dead of night shouting at Malfoy.

So, Sirius was not surprised after he’d gotten the whole tale of how Atlanta Siria Black had come into being out of Remus on the day she ran away. 

It made sense.

Remus was Atlanta Black’s father (both of them). 

And for some reason, Sirius felt irrationally…upset. 

Sirius had no right to be angry. He and Remus were broken up, split apart, and no longer speaking to one another. Hell, Remus wasn’t even speaking to Lily and James at the time. 

Still, Sirius was somewhat…jealous. 

Some woman and his Remus had…

No. He wasn’t going there. 

“Why do you think Atlanta ran away?” Sirius asked, trying to hide his emotions. 

“I’m not sure, if I’m honest. She’s always gotten along rather well with Altair Black,” Remus said, wringing his hands together. “I don’t know what to do.” 

Remus appeared helpless. While there were a lot of unresolved issues between the two men, Remus had seemed almost relieved when Sirius had appeared in front of him while he attempted to carve a dent in the worn wood floors with his feet. Part of Sirius wondered if Remus had sent Harry off with Tom’s stupid cube was because it was time to have The Talk, after they figured out the whole Atlanta thing. 

Or Remus was hoping for someone familiar and Sirius happened to be the only adult Remus wished to deal with in his hour of need. 

It gave Sirius hope. Hell, the fact Remus had spilled the entire story when Sirius had asked gave Sirius hope their relationship could be repaired. Sirius doubted Remus had shared the tale with many. 

“Do you think…now that Circe Hilderbatch is…uh, dead, the Unbreakable Vow…that it broke? Altair might know?” Sirius suggested.

Hilderbatch had been placed under an Unbreakable Vow by her sister-in-law and Atlanta’s birth mother, Siria Black. Hilderbatch had found ways around it while she was alive (by informing Dumbledore in writing, she was able to let Remus know without breaking her vow to not tell him), but from what Sirius could tell the woman had been keen on keeping the truth from her husband and the other American Blacks. 

“It wouldn’t matter to him now,” Remus admitted, twisting his hands together. Sirius had to restrain himself from reaching out to stop him as he’d done when they’d been in school. “After what happened to Atlanta last year…she’s too powerful…to valuable for Black to loose. If she hadn’t come across Voldemort in the pas…it’s highly likely Black would disowned her on the spot if he found out her true origins. But…Voldemort was after Atlanta Black, remember? He wanted her.”

“I thought he wanted her simply because she was so good at creating spells,” Sirius grumbled, resting his arms on his knees.

Sirius glanced around the flat, unchanged since the last time he’d set foot within it— the last day he’d been free. After Addy died, he had remained at the flat with Tom, even though the flat belonged to Remus. 

Remus never returned to England long enough to need a place to live, nor did he drop by. From the looks of the flat, Remus didn’t actually live here now. It was dust free (thanks to Kreacher (who’d been gifted to Atlanta from Regulus, then Remus from Atlanta)) but Sirius was positive nothing had moved from where Sirius had left it over twelve years ago. Tom had likely spent the past twelve years alone in his room and not using the rest of the flat. 

“I think Voldemort thought Addy was Atlanta,” Remus corrected. “I don’t believe he wanted Addy for her talents. He wanted his adopted sister.”

Sirius’ skin crawled. 

A knock on the door caused both men to jump. Remus ran to the door, peering through the peep hole. He gasped, retching the door open.

“Atlanta!”

“Hello, Father.”

Atlanta stepped around Remus and entered the foyer. Sirius stood up from the chair he was seated and studied the child. Atlanta had a bag with her, though it wasn’t very large. She was wearing the dark blue pea coat she’d been wearing the night Sirius had first met her, though this time she wasn’t dressed in short shorts and sandals. She was wearing rather expensive looking knee length dress, proper shoes and her hair pulled away from her face and styled so she didn’t look like a wild mess. 

While she was standing in the hall with a familiar air (one of a high society pureblood), there was something off about her as her eyes swept around the foyer. 

“I’m sure you’ve heard by now, correct?” Atlanta inquired, glancing at Remus. They were almost the exact same height. 

“Yes. I’m…sorry,” Remus said, looking at his daughter with concern. 

Something _was_ off about the girl. 

“Thank you. She will be greatly missed,” Atlanta said, sounding unemotional. “Altair received her will this morning.”

Remus shifted on his feet, studying his daughter as if he was trying to find someone else in her face. 

“Mom stated in her will I’m not a Black by way of Altair, as everyone in this flat is well aware,” Atlanta explained, moving passed Remus and setting her bag down on the table in the entry hall. She stared in the mirror that hung on the wall opposite the door, blankly staring at her reflection. “Due to the fact Altair reacted improperly and I know for a fact he believes I’m the key to him being favored when Riddle returns from wherever he buggered off to, I saw fit to leave. I sent word to my brother and sister, or I guess my cousins, that I am fine. I doubt they’ll worry once they hear I’m not actually their youngest sibling.”

“Atlanta, you ran away!” Remus burst out. “I was worried.”

“I had to wait for Altair to contact you. So, I stopped to visit with Madam Bones,” Atlanta said, turning back to the table. She opened her bag and dug around within it. It must be larger on the inside, as her arms completely vanished as she searched around the bag. A few things fell over and crashed within the bag as she dug around. She pulled out a scroll of some sort and handed it to Remus. “Sign that.” 

“What is it?” Remus asked, untying the ribbon around it.

“Mom had it written up in case she passed before I was of age,” Atlanta explained. “When Altair acted like he didn’t care I wasn’t his blood child, but a bastard of two werewolves—”  

Remus flinched. Sirius balled his fists up at his side, but held his temper in. (It was a newly acquired skill. His anger and temper had cost him much in the past and he was working along with the Mind Healers to control his temper in order to stay out of trouble in the future.) 

“— I went to see Madam Bones to see if there was anything I could do to protect myself and found her in possession of the scroll.”

“How did Altair react wrongly?” Remus asked. 

“Altair has no respect for goblins, so he would not have withheld his negative reaction. We both know that Altair values pure blood.”

Atlanta turned away from Remus, shutting the bag. 

“I made an illusion of myself that remained by Altair’s side so I was able to get away.”

“You can do that?”

“Of course I can,” Atlanta scoffed. “Riddle showed me. He often used them when he didn’t want to be around others, but it was required of him. His _friends_ were too stupid to realize he was absent.” 

“Tom?” Sirius asked. “Tom knows how to do that?”

“No. Tom does not,” Atlanta said, seemingly to notice Sirius for the first time. 

She looked uneasy. She glanced at Remus, then back to Sirius. Remus decided to look at the scroll she’d handed him. His eyes went wide. 

“These…this…are you sure?” Remus sputtered, staring at his daughter.

“Of course. I will not be a pawn in Altair’s dance with the devil,” Atlanta spat. “I am Calliope Riddle. Voldemort is desperate to find me. He knows the other Atlanta wasn’t the right one and will have figured out Altair has Calliope. I’m sure he tortured that out of my mom before he killed her.”

Sirius shivered. Remus’ hands clenched around the parchment of the document he was holding. 

“Don’t—don’t speak like that, Atlanta.”

“Bluntly?” the girl asked blithely. 

“How are your barriers holding?”

Sirius frowned, wondering what on Earth Remus was talking about. Atlanta squared her shoulders and closed her eyes. She breathed deeply for a moment, frowning. 

“Breaking down,” she sighed. Her eyes opened, suddenly more blue than the odd amber-blue they’d been before. She blinked again, making them go back to normal. “I guess I ought to tend to that.”

“Yes. You should,” Remus said, looking concerned. “Do you need my help?”

“No. I think…Atlanta is very upset.”

Sirius felt bewildered. As he watched the girl, her expression moved between cold, indifferent and emotional pain. Her eyes flashed between amber and blue. It was as if she were two different people and they were fighting for control instead of the usual balance they’d found. 

Well, in a sense, after her tussle with Voldemort in the past, she was two different people. 

“And you should be, as you are Atlanta,” Remus said quietly. “You are one and the same.”

“Oh. I’ve taken over because she’s so distressed and I find it distasteful,” the girl said, looking worried. “Is there a free room?”

“Oh. Uh…”

Remus looked flummoxed.

“Uh, Remus, aren’t there still two bedrooms upstairs?”

Remus turned to Sirius, wearing an expression that spoke volumes. It was familiar and caused a pain within Sirius’ heart. He’d gotten that look quite often back in the day.

Remus thought he was mental.

“When I stayed with Addy and Tom, there was an upstairs. Two bedrooms,” Sirius explained, slowly walking across the living area to the entry. 

Remus looked bemused. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, but said nothing. Atlanta looked worried for Remus’ sanity.

“I think you broke him,” she mused. “Father, why do you not know there’s an upstairs at your flat?”

“Where are the stairs?” Remus faintly inquired. 

“Behind you, Dad,” Atlanta pointed out, indicating with a long finger where the stairs were located. 

Remus whirled around, looking at the spiral staircase that lead upstairs. He blinked, rubbed his eyes, then turned back to the other two.

“That was not there this morning. It was a blank wall.”

“Maybe it only appears when you need it?” Sirius suggested. “It seems like something Addy might do.”

“Why didn’t Tom mention it?”

“Did you ask?”

Remus shook his head, looking even more confused. Remus turned around and walked across the entry to the staircase and stared at it for a moment as if he thought it’d go poof at any moment. He tested out the first step, then climbed up. Atlanta eyed Sirius before picking up her bag and following her father. Sirius joined them, figuring he might as well head up to see what the state of the two rooms and bathroom found themselves.

Sirius doubted Kreacher had cleaned his room.  

Upon getting up stairs, he knew the place had not been touched since Sirius had run off half cocked to find Peter while Tom screamed at him. 

He shivered at the memory. 

“The dust up here is like ten feet thick,” Atlanta muttered, disgust in her tone.

Her eyes lingered on an old battered looking piano that sat in the hall. 

“That’s easy to deal with,” Remus faintly said, waving his wand. The wooden floor was suddenly free of dust. “So, there are two rooms?”

“And a bath and toilet,” Sirius offered. “That door at the end of the hall is the loo. Then down that tiny hall are the two bedrooms. The one on the right is bigger of the two.”

Atlanta turned away from the piano and started down the hall. She opened the door on the room on the right, peeking in. Remus stood behind her, looking over her shoulder. 

“Clearly used by Sirius last,” Remus muttered, faint amusement in his tone. 

Sirius honestly did not want to look in the room, knowing he wasn’t the neatest of people. Atlanta moved to the door opposite and opened the door.

“Oh, this is more like it,” she announced.

Having never seen the other room, Sirius followed Remus into the room. It was done in light colors— unlike the room Sirius had used which had black painted walls for some reason. The smaller attic room was done in white and lime. The bed was shoved into the alcove with the window. Tom had clearly picked up after himself when he’d retreated back downstairs to claim the room Addy had kicked him out of in her final days. He hadn’t been back if the thick layer of dust was anything to go by.

Remus waved his wand several times, silently cleaning the room and changing the bedsheets. Atlanta moved to the window and crawled onto the bed, opening the curtains and allowing the light of day to drench the room in warm sunlight.  

“Well, does this suit you?” Remus asked.

Atlanta turned around and sat down properly on the bed, looking around the room. 

“It’ll do. I’ll likely need a few hours to balance myself out again,” Atlanta said, standing and moving to the center of the room. “I’ll be done around for dinner.”

She sat down in the middle of the room cross legged, smoothed her skirt to keep things proper, and closed her eyes. Remus sighed and motioned that Sirius ought to leave the room. Sirius treated into the dark hall, which only got darker when Remus shut the bedroom door. 

“How come I didn’t know about this?” Remus asked, silently lighting his wand. The wand light made him look ghastly. 

“I dunno. Because Tom’s a bastard?”

Remus sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. 

“What is she doing exactly?” Sirius ventured to ask. 

“She has to do meditation to keep her…walls built properly,” Remus said. “I don’t know how to explain it to you. She has to keep balance between Atlanta and Calliope.”

Remus brushed passed Sirius, heading for the stairs. 

“Oh. Okay,” Sirius said, following after Remus. “So, what are you doing to do?”

Remus waited till he was back on the main level before answering Sirius.

“I believe I’m going to sign this roll of parchment,” Remus replied, picking up the parchment from the hall table. “From the looks of it, Circe made it so it’ll be impossible for Altair to get his hands on Atlanta legally. The only way for Altair…well, the only way Altair will be able to do what he had planned on doing would be to kidnap her, which I do not put passed him.”

Remus looked bitter, his hand gripping the parchment tightly. He stalked into the main living area and to the dining room table. He rolled the parchment out and produced a quill from somewhere and signed the parchment. The moment he finished singing it, the roll of parchment turned into a cloud of smoke and filled the room with a loud gong noise.

“What was that?”

“Custody of Atlanta Siria Black has been returned to her blood parent,” Remus replied. “I believe Siria signed full custody over to Circe after Atlanta was born.”  

“You live a complicated life, Remus Lupin,” Sirius muttered.

“Time travel, Sirius. It makes everything complicated,” Remus sighed. “I wonder how Addy found out…”

“Found out that you’re her dad? Were her dad?”

Sirius’ head began to hurt.

“Yes. Since…since I figured it out— well, I’ve always been curious. I don’t think Draco knows,” Remus admitted. “I…I have a feeling they were not very close. Not like they are this time.” 

The two men stood in awkward silence for a long drawn out moment before Sirius couldn’t handle it any longer and opened his big mouth.

“Are we going to talk about it?”

“About what?”

Remus avoided looking at Sirius. Sirius felt his temper snap. 

“Remus! You didn’t visit me in hospital! You haven’t stopped by the house, you haven’t answered any of my letters! You’re avoiding me and I don’t know why. You seemed okay at the Shack,” Sirius wailed. “Hell, you were okay when I first got here! Now you’re acting cagey.” 

Remus shifted uneasily and moved across the room. He sat down in one of the chairs in front of the fireplace and indicated for Sirius to sit as well. 

“At the Shack…I was getting a lot of information at once. I was happy that Draco was correct and you were innocent. I was wrapped up in the moment,” Remus explained knotting his hands together in his lap. “Nothing more. I’ve been avoiding you because I do not know how to…re-establish a friendship with you.”

Sirius blinked.

Friendship. Remus only wanted friendship. 

Sirius’ heart stuttered and he wanted to punch himself in the nose. 

“I cannot simply pick up where we left off all those years ago. You’ve changed and I have changed,” Remus explained, raising his head to stare at the fireplace. “We have to get to know one another again and I wished for you to be mentally stable before undertaking that endeavor.”

“Oh.”

Sirius felt hurt, betrayed and something else he wasn’t too keen on analyzing at the moment. 

“I’m stable. So, now what?”

Remus shifted in his seat and looked towards the window looking out over a very green park. The park Sirius used to run around as a dog for hours upon hours when he got restless. 

“I do not know,” Remus admitted. “I’ve spent most of my life running from…what happened…the betrayal I felt when you turned your back on me. Some of the things you shouted at me in your anger stuck, Sirius. They were forgotten that night in the Shack…they were forgotten this morning in my…anxiousness, but they do remain.”

Remus looked tired, much more tired and worn than Sirius had ever seen him. 

Sirius wished, quite hard, he could go back in time (it was possible, he could do it) and change what had gone down between himself and Remus. Things were strange at the moment and he did not like that at all. Sirius wanted to pick up where they’d left off, wanted to be able to solve the problem with an apology and start back up.

Remus did not want that. He wanted to be _friends_. And at the moment they weren’t even that. 

“I believe we will be seeing one another often this summer,” Remus said, turning to look at Sirius. There was a bright glint in his eye which eased the tightness in Sirius’ stomach. “I did wake up to find Harry in my home. I doubt it’s the first time I’ll find him here.”

Sirius frowned. “Should I be worried?”

“About what?”

“That he seems to know Tom so well already,” Sirius admitted. “I know they’ve been pen pals, but it’s just…weird.”

“Lily and Tom were good friends, Sirius. Just because you do not like him doesn’t everyone else won’t.”

“He’s a sociopath,” Sirius muttered.

Remus snorted. “No, he’s really not. He simply likes to fancy himself one.” 

“So. We’ll just see how things go this summer?”

Remus nodded. “I believe we will.”

Sirius stood up and looked around. “Okay. Uh, I’m going to go home. Bye.”

Twisting on the spot, Sirius let the pull of Apperation close around him. He reappeared with a pop in London, no where near Grimmauld Place, but he wasn’t ready to head back home yet. He had some thinking to do. 


	3. Trees, Dusty Books, and Weatherby

**Disclaimer: If you know it, it is likely from _Goblet of Fire_ and I fail to own that. **

* * *

In the weeks following Circe Hilderbatch’s death, a feeling of gloom fell over Grimmauld Place and Park Quad. Atlanta spent a curious amount of time locked away in her attic bedroom doing whatever she did to find balance between twelve-year-old Atlanta Black and twelve-year-old Calliope Riddle. When she wasn’t in the bedroom she was pounding away on the old piano that sat in the hall, playing an unfamiliar melody that haunted Draco long after he left the flat. When not at Park Quad attempting to keep Atlanta company, Harry spent an abnormal amount of time with Tom in the Black family library doing who knew what, as neither was willing to give Draco a straight answer. Besides using him for his height a few times to reach books Harry could not, Draco had the distinct feeling he wasn’t wanted in the library. Tom didn’t bother to hide his distain towards Draco, while Harry was doing his self-less hero thing for some strange reason and shielding Draco from whatever they were actually searching for. 

There was something else going on, which Draco had no desire to figure out, so most afternoons when Tom appeared out of his block and wanted to head to the library, Draco went off on his own. 

This was why on a rather sunny afternoon, Sirius found Draco hanging upside down in an arm chair in the first floor sitting room staring at the wall opposite him. 

“What are you doing in here of all places?” Sirius inquired.  

“Bored,” Draco replied. “So, I figured I’d stare at the family tree. Upside down.”

Sirius gave him a look that told Draco he was clearly mental for staring at the tapestry upside down. Draco fell in a heap before sitting up properly on the floor. Sirius eyed Draco before walking into the room further and studying the tapestry. He eyebrows knit together. 

“Did your mother fix all the burn holes?” Sirius asked.

“She fixed them.” 

“Wow. Did she do some sort of freaky magic to show the relations we failed to know about because the people had been burned off?” Sirius asked, staring at the tapestry. 

“No idea. I didn’t see it when it was covered in burn holes,” Draco replied. “Well, I might have, but I don’t remember.”

“Whatever she did, didn’t work,” Sirius muttered. 

“Why?”

Draco pushed himself to his feet and joined Sirius next to the tapestry. 

“This claims my brother is still alive and kicking,” Sirius snorted. “He’s dead.”

“How did he die?”

“I don’t know. I wasn’t on the best of terms with my family at the time, but he showed up one night outside Addy’s flat and spoke to her. Then she started acting weird,” Sirius explained, looking at the tapestry blankly. “Addy’s letters all showed up the morning Regulus was reported missing. The letters meant she was dead, so I’ve always figured Regulus died as well that night. It’s not like him to just vanish without at least telling Kreacher or our mother where’d he’d buggered off to.” 

“They both just vanished one night? Regulus and Addy?”

“Addy didn’t vanish,” Sirius said. “She died. We had solid evidence thanks to the letters and the fact Dumbledore suddenly had her will.”

Sirius walked across the room and stared out the window. He wore a very dark expression on his face. 

“Regulus was going to do something. Something stupid and Addy always said she was going to save him. I guess she failed,” Sirius said, a hint of bitterness to his voice. He turned suddenly and eyed Draco. “Do you fly?”

“Like a bird?”

“On a broom.”

“Yeah.”

“Let’s go fly. The backyard is enchanted and enlarged. Perfect for flying around,” Sirius said, heading for the door. “In honor of being free and the fact the Minister is afraid I might do something to cause him to not be Minister, he gave me a Firebolt. Not sure his thinking, but who am I to argue? Free broom!”

“What?” Draco exclaimed. “Seriously!”

“I am Sirius, so of course,” the man laughed. 

Draco followed his cousin down the stairs to the kitchen. After being handed a Firebolt, Sirius pulled out what appeared to be a Nimbus 2001.

“Where did you get that one?”

“It was in my vault,” Sirius said, frowning at it. “There are a lot of random things in my bank vault that make no sense. Like teddy bears, tiny clothes, and toys for a little kid. Then, there’s a couple brooms, random school books and other strange things. I have an odd feeling they’re for Harry. They have no tags on them, so I don’t know what to do with them.”

Draco shrugged. “Donate it to St. Mungo’s children’s wing or something.”

“You know, I think I might. Harry’s kind of a little old for most of the stuff in there even if it was for him,” Sirius said, putting the Nimbus 2001 over his shoulder. 

“Sure you don’t want to fly this one?” Draco asked. 

“Uh, no. I’ve seen Harry zoom around on the one I got him for Christmas,” Sirius said, slamming the cupboard door closed. “I’m crazy, but I know I’m no longer twenty.”

“You did get it for him, then? The Firebolt?”

“Yeah. Did I not tell him?”

“I don’t know. This is the first I’m hearing of it,” Draco replied.

“I’ll tell him whenever he finally throws that damn cube back to Park Quad,” Sirius muttered.

* * *

Harry slammed another book shut. 

“Can you reach that one?” Tom asked, peering up towards the ceiling of the library.

“What do you think, Tall Boy?” Harry grumbled, standing next to Tom, who was a head taller than him even though they were the same age. Or at least they assumed they were the same age physically now that Harry had turned fourteen. 

Tom huffed. “You will grow. Your father wasn’t a diminutive man.”

“Mum was?”

“No. She was average height for a female,” Tom replied slowly, looking down at Harry. “Teenage males grow into their early twenties I believe.”

“Draco shot up another three inches,” Harry grumbled. “He’s almost six foot now.”

“I realize this. I had the same problem as Draco,” Tom replied, shaking his head. “I did all my growing before my peers and loomed above them. It was…unfortunate.”

“Well, I’m going to be stepped on,” Harry grouched.

Tom sighed.

Harry knew it was pointless to argue about something like his height, so he dropped the topic. Most of the books Tom fixated upon during their hunt to learn more about Harry’s curse scar were on the upper most shelves, which would have been out of Tom’s reach if he had been able to touch things. 

“I don’t know why they’d have shelves that high and not have a ladder,” Harry complained.

Tom did not reply.

Harry had tried to find a ladder for the past several weeks without avail. He assumed it was hiding.

“You do realize they just summoned the books they wanted,” Tom said, appearing behind Harry unannounced.

Used to this occurrence, Harry didn’t startle. 

“What about kids? They can’t use magic like adults,” Harry complained.

Tom shrugged, a movement that looked out of place on him. 

“Well, so far all the good books are out of reach,” Harry pointed out, flopping into a chair in the reading nook set up in one of the bay windows. The sunlight poured in, heating up the area making Harry’s head a little fuzzy. He noticed blurs flying around in the sky and shook his head. 

“Of course they are out of reach. They are dangerous,” Tom pointed out. He kicked the cube till he rested in front of the other chair. He picked it up, setting it down on the chair and sat down on top of it. “I don’t think we’re going to discover anything this summer. And it is not a topic I can simply write and request books for. It would seem strange if I suddenly wanted to research cursed scars, as my whole life I’ve focused upon spell theory and history. Also, a number of Dark books I’d want are held by families who will no longer be as amenable to myself once the Slytherin journals are published.” 

“Oh. Those are coming out soon, aren’t they?”

“In a few days. I’ll make quite a few more enemies,” Tom chuckled. 

Harry stared out the window before looking back at his new friend, eyeing him for a moment.

“You’re not telling me something,” Harry realized. “What are you not telling me?”

Tom looked away and stared out the window, refusing to meet Harry’s eye. In the past couple months Harry had spent with Tom, he knew Tom kept a lot of things to himself— it was in his nature. However, there were always acceptation to rules, and Harry knew he was an acceptation. Harry was privy to many things Tom usually did not voice— Harry could tell because they tended to be stilted when Tom spoke the words to form the thoughts. 

“Tom.”

“I’m worried there is a horcrux in your head.”

“Huh?”

“Exactly. I do not…I need more information.”

“You know, Sirius might give you the books on the upper shelves. If you ask nicely,” Harry suggested.

“Sirius will not give me dangerous books. Especially, if I say the word horcrux,” Tom sighed, turning to face Harry. “He doesn’t actually like me, Harry.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. Maybe because I wasn’t that found of him when he invaded Addy’s flat,” Tom admitted, eyes following the blurs zooming around the backyard. “He was loud, arrogant, somewhat of a cad, and a clod.”

Harry frowned.

“I know he’s your guardian and he does protect those he loves, but…he was suggestible and had no control over his anger. He is working on that now,” Tom quickly tacked on. 

Harry folded his arms across his chest, feeling his ire rise. 

“Don’t look at me like that, Harry. There are plenty of people I detest who return the favor,” Tom reminded Harry. 

“I just…”

“Harry. The world isn’t all sunshine and lollies,” Tom dryly joked. “You are going to the World Cup tomorrow, correct?”

Even though Harry knew Tom was attempting to distract him, Harry still got excited about the thought of the World Cup and sat up straight in his seat. 

“Yeah,” Harry said. “I kind of wish we could go camping in a tent and all, but the Minister set Sirius up with…a cabin or something. I don’t know. Atlanta told me Ginny wrote they were going to go camping in a tent. Oh, her brothers are trying to set up a joke shop! Isn’t that cool?”

Tom looked bemused.

“What?” Harry asked. 

“Nothing. When do they plan to open this joke shop?”

Harry began to babble about what Atlanta had told him earlier that afternoon when he’d gone to get Tom for their daily Hunt the Library for Books and Fail. Harry only stopped speaking when something crashed into the window. 

“I believe Sirius has finally realized he’s no longer young,” Tom remarked, standing to peer downwards.

Harry joined him to find Sirius in a heap at the bottom of the window, laughing as he pulled himself out of the bushes. Draco landed a few feet away from him, looking concerned. 

* * *

“Do you have everything?”

“Yes, for the millionth time, Cissy, they’ve got everything. It’ll likely only be overnight.”

“The last time it went on for a week.”

“Wow. A whole week!”

“It’s not as fun as it sounds, Harry, darling,” Narcissa dryly said.

“Oh, it is,” Sirius assured Harry. 

Harry grinned and turned to Draco who returned the grin. Sirius was flipped a pair of broken glasses in his hands, also smiling. Everyone was in good spirits. Draco was even excited for the game, even if he knew how it concluded. He was getting out of the house and he was getting Harry’s attention back, as Tom wasn’t coming along. Atlanta didn’t have any interest in Quidditch, so Tom was trapped at Park Quad. 

Ha!

Tom wasn’t a very Quidditch fan, so Draco didn’t think he really wanted to go, but that was not the point.

“Whatever you say, Sirius. Now, boys, behave,” Narcissa ordered.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come, Mother?” Draco asked.

She’d come along last time.

“I’m sure. I’m going to go see my sister. Oh, Sirius, did you hear? Nymphadora has finally passed her Auror exam!”

Draco had learned this summer his mother had kept in touch with her sister Andromeda even though the woman had been disinherited after her marriage to a Muggleborn. 

The things his mother did without his knowledge were amazing. Draco had wondered if she’d kept in touch with his aunt in the previous timeline or if this was a new thing. 

“Oh! Wow,” Sirius said. “She’s…old.”

“Sirius,” Narcissa chided. She shook her head before looking back at Harry and Draco. “Have fun. Boys, grab hold of the glasses. It’s almost time for your Portkey.

Harry lunged towards the glasses Sirius was holding out and gripped as if his life depended on it.

“And remember to move your feet or you’ll end up on your rear,” Narcissa reminded them as Draco reached for the glasses.

The moment Draco gripped the glasses, he felt the familiar tug around his navel. He moved his feet even though he felt stupid. He was glad he had, as when he arrived in the foggy field, he was upright as opposed to on the ground like many people wound up after traveling by Portkey. 

“Ah, good morning Lord Black,” greeted someone to the right.

“Good morning. Here, one pair of broken glasses,” Sirius said, handing over the glasses. “Might you know where I’m heading?”

The person looked down at a clipboard. “Judson Cabin. It’s right on the edge of the forest. Only a minute walk to the stadium. Prime location, long walk from here. You could wait. I’m sure someone would take the boys along for side along.”

“That’s fine. We’ll see the sights. Thank you.”

Sirius steered Draco and Harry away from the man and down the path towards the camp site. The site of the festivities was a deserted moor, which in the hanging mist was hard to make out. The ghostly shapes of the tents looked somewhat sinister with the glow issuing from whatever everyone was using for light.

“Well, let’s hit it,” Sirius laughed, marching forward. 

They trudged towards the sea of tents. Harry looked around in wonder. Many of the tents appeared mundane and ordinary. The further inward they got, though, the more normal the tents began to look.

“What the…” Harry trailed off, staring at one rather nice looking tent. “That is not a tent.”

“What is it then?” Sirius asked. “Looks like a tent.”

“No, that’s a tent,” Harry replied, pointing at one of the plain, ugly things. “Why does that one have a fountain?”

Sirius and Draco exchanged looks, unable to find an answer for Harry. Harry shook his head, continued pointing out each time there was an “odd” tent. They soon reached the very end of the camp grounds near the top of the field. There sat two rather plain tents, with a single sign hammered into the ground with the name WEEZLY written on it.

“OLD SPORT!”

“OLD CHAP!” 

Two redheaded blurs tackled Harry to the ground.

“Hey! Don’t kill him!” Ginny Weasley shouted, appearing out of the smaller of the tents. 

“We’re not killing him!” said one twin.

“We’re showing our appreciation!” the other crowed.

“Can’t. Breathe,” Harry wheezed.

“Lord Black!” wailed Big Head Boy, appearing out of nowhere.

Oh, god.

“Er, hello,” Sirius said as Big Head Boy (hmm, needed new nickname, as he was no longer Head Boy…) shook his hand with vigor. 

“How are you finding this all? Exciting isn’t? I had trouble getting away. Reports to write on cauldrons. Have you heard the trouble we’ve been having? Those so called historically accurate journals came out a few days ago. Total uproar.”

“Is that Sirius Black!” boomed another voice from behind them. 

“Ludo!” greeted Mr Weasley, leaping to his feet from where ever the heck he’d been. “The man of the moment!” 

Draco peered over his shoulder as Ludo Bagman ambled towards the group. He looked foolish, wearing his old Quidditch robes. He looked like an oversized bee gone to seed. Draco hid his snicker with a cough. Sirius was also coughing. Harry and Ginny appeared to have no idea what was going on, as they both exchanged bewildered looks before looking to Draco for explanation. Wanna Be Minister of Magic, of course, puffed up his chest and turned his attention to Bagman. 

“Sirius! So, good to see you out and about! How have you been?” Bagman boomed, clapping a ham hand on Sirius shoulder, making him stumble sideways. “What a day, huh? What a day! Couldn’t have asked for better weather! Well, once the mist clears up.”

“Brilliant,” Sirius muttered.

“And no hiccups in the arrangements! Not much for me to do!”

Draco raised an eyebrow as he watched a haggard group of Ministry wizards rush past, pointing at some sort of magical disaster.

“So, who do we have here?” Bagman asked, peering at the huge group that Draco suddenly found himself within.

Where had all these people come from?

“Ah, yes,” Mr Weasley said, grinning. “We’ve got, uh, Percy. He’s just starting at the Ministry. This is Fred— no, George, sorry— that’s Fred. The black haired boy came with, er, Lord Black, and that’s my youngest Ginny.” Mr Weasley turned around to find the others. “Bill, Charlie, Ron and Ron’s friend Blaise Zabini.”

Draco whirled around to find Zabini standing next to Weasley. Zabini waved at Draco, who waved back. 

“I believe that’s Draco Malfoy,” Mr Weasley finished, eyeing Draco who was standing next to Sirius.

“It is,” Sirius said, managing to get out of Bagman’s grip. He clapped a hand on Draco’s shoulder. “When did you get so damn tall?”

Draco sighed deeply.

“Everyone,” Mr Weasley continued, “this is Ludo Bagman, you know who he is of course. It’s thanks to him we’ve got such good tickets—”

Harry had a bewildered look on his face, eyeing the over sized bee.

“He played Quidditch,” Sirius explained, noticing Harry’s face. “He’s somewhat well known from his days playing for the English national team.”

“Oh,” Harry said. “What position did you play?”

Bagman stared at Harry. “I was a Beater.”

Harry nodded politely. 

“That’s Harry Potter,” Ministry Worker Weasley intoned to Bagman, seeing as Mr Weasley had failed to recognize Harry. 

“Oh!” Bagman breathed, eyeing Harry’s forehead. 

Harry flattened his hair and sent a menacing glare towards Ministry Brown Noser. Bagman looked away quickly, seemingly not noticing Harry’s reaction. He rubbed his palms together, his whole face lighting up as he eyed Mr Weasley and Sirius.

“Fancy a flutter on the match, Arthur? Lord Black?” Bagman asked eagerly, jingling what seemed to be a large amount of gold in the pockets of his yellow and black robes. “I’ve already got Roddy Ponter betting me Bulgaria will score first— I offered him nice odds, considering Ireland’s front three are the strongest I’ve seen in years— and little Agatha Timms has put up half shares in her eel farm on a week-long match.”

Draco bit his lip, knowing that no one would EVER guess how the game went.

“Oh…go on then,” Mr Weasley said, smiling in a good manner way. “Let’s see…a Galleon on Ireland to win?”

Bagman looked utterly disappointed, but recovered quickly. “Very well. One Galleon. Lord Black?”

“Er…no. Sorry, I’m under orders not to gamble away the Black fortune,” Sirius laughed, raking a hand through his wavy, black hair. It flopped back into place.

“Not even a Galleon?” Bagman prodded.

Sirius stuffed his hands into the pockets of his Muggle jeans, grey eyes rolling around for a moment. 

“Fine. Galleon on…Harry? What should we bet?” Sirius asked.

“Er, I don’t know. I don’t know much about the teams playing,” Harry admitted.

“Victor Krum is the best,” Ron suddenly burst out with from behind Draco. “He’s the youngest Seeker to play for a national team ever! He’s…eighteen.”

Ron sounded as if he were in love with Krum. Ginny slapped a hand over her face and Zabini stared at Ron as if he wasn’t sure he knew the kid any longer.

“Oh, well, uh, a Galleon Krum gets the Snitch,” Harry said, shrugging and looking as if he wasn’t sure he made the bet right. 

“You heard the kid,” Sirius said, flicking the Galleon at Bagman. 

Bagman caught it and added it to the stash of gold already in his pockets. He looked around at the rest of the group.

“Any other takers?” he asked, waggling his eyebrows.

“They’re a bit young to be gambling. Molly wouldn’t like—” Mr Weasley started. 

“We’ll bet thirty-seven Galleons, fifteen Sickles, three Knuts,” one of the twins said as he and his brother dumped all the money in their pockets out, “that Ireland wins— but Krum gets the Snitch. Oh, and we’ll throw in a fake wand.”

The twin with the money handed over the pile while the other one produced a fake wand from Harry’s ear.

“You don’t want to go showing Mr Bagman rubbish like that,” Ministry Brown Noser hissed, but Bagman did in fact want to see this kind of rubbish. He was thrilled with the wand produced out of Harry’s ear (Harry stuck his finger in his ear and hit his head, but nothing else came out). Bagman gave the wand a wave and it gave a loud squawk, turning into a rubber chicken.

“Oh! Excellent!” Bagman exclaimed, his boyish face gleaming with excitement. “I haven’t seen one of these this convincing in years! I’d pay five Galleons for this!”

The twins exchanged excited looks while Ministry Brown Noser looked at a complete loss. Mr Weasley hissed something under his breath at the twins, which Bagman brushed off in favor of telling the twins their bet was silly, but gave them excellent odds. (Draco was sure everyone had excellent odds.) Mr Weasley looked on helplessly as Bagman took out a notebook and recorded their bets. 

“Well, this has been fun, but we shall we find our cabin?” Sirius asked, turning Draco around to face the path once more. “Harry?”

“Uh, could I…stay here?” Harry asked.

“Oh, sure. Draco? Wanna stay here? We’re in the top box with the Minister—”  

“That’s where we’re sitting,” Ron interrupted, once again speaking a little too loudly.

Ginny groaned (along with everyone else). 

Before Draco had a chance to answer, a wizard Apparated right next to Sirius, who jerked sideways at the loud pop.  

“Oh, Crouch, you almost gave me a heart attack,” Sirius muttered, glaring at the rather proper looking wizard who’d appeared at his side. 

The wizard looked down his nose at Sirius (a feat, as Sirius was a few inches taller than the other man). “Apologies.”

“Mr Crouch!” Ministry Brown Noser exclaimed, looking thrilled at the appearance of yet another Ministry worker at his campsite.

It was like Waterloo Station around here.

Crouch stared at Ministry Brown Noser as if he had no clue who he was. The man was stiff, upright and elderly (older than Mr Weasley) and dressed like a well to do Muggle. Everything seemed almost unnaturally straight, pressed, and highly polished. 

It was easy to see why Ministry Brown Noser had lit up like a Christmas tree at the sight of the man. Crouch was MBN in twenty years. 

“Barty! Pull up a bit of grass!” Bagman shouted, flopping down on the ground. He patted the ground next to him. The Weasley party slowly sat down once it became clear Bagman wasn’t going anywhere.

“Tea?” Ministry Brown Noser asked, looking eager.

Crouch did not look as if he wanted tea, nor did he appear to hear as he didn’t pay any attention to MBN. MBN failed to take note of this and busied himself with getting tea. 

“Ludo, I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” Crouch said, impatience clear in his tone. “The Bulgarians are insisting we add another twelve seats to the Top Box.”

Sirius snorted.

“Oh, is that what they’re after?” Bagman asked, shaking his head. “I thought the chap was asking to borrow a pair of tweezers.”

“Percy, what are…” Mr Weasley trailed off as he heard the kettle whistle.  

“Oh, Arthur,” Crouch said, seemingly noticing Mr Weasley for the first time. “I’ve been wanting a word with you as well.”

“Oh?” Mr Weasley asked as Ministry Brown Noser appeared with a tray of tea cups and a teapot. 

“Ali Bashir’s on the warpath,” Crouch began as Percy handed out tea. “He wants a word with you about your embargo on flying carpets.”

Mr Weasley heaved a sigh. 

“Would you like a cup of tea, Mr Crouch?” Ministry Brown Noser asked in his best wanting-to-please-you voice. 

Mr Crouch’s eyes moved towards MBN and honestly looked surprised to see MBN standing before him holding out a cup of tea. It was as if MBN’s previous actions had not registered within the man’s head. 

“Oh. Yes— thank you, Weatherby.”

Weatherby?

The twins choked, Ginny pretended to sneeze and the older Weasley children both looked to be trying very hard not to appear to have noticed the slip of the wrong name. Sirius rolled his eyes. MBN handed the cup to Mr Crouch, his ears quite pink. 

“PERCY!”

Crouch startled, sending tea all over the ground. He scowled in the direction of the shout. Sirius barked out a laugh, then arranged his face in a look of innocence when Crouch turned to glare at him. 

“Percy! Did you hear?” Oliver Wood asked, sounding super excited as he ran up to the camp site. He grabbed Percy by the shoulders and started shaking him. “DID YOU HEAR?”

Crouch turned his attention back to Mr Weasley and continued talking about carpets, as Wood began talking a million miles an hour. Draco had no clue what Wood was trying to tell Percy. The only thing he was able to pick out was something about Puddlemere United, Quidditch, and Krum. How these things were connected was beyond Draco. Judging by how everyone kept looking at Weatherby to translate for Wood, no one else understood either.  

Weatherby didn’t understand if the expression on his face was anything to go by. 

“Did you say you’re staying at a cabin?” Ginny asked, appearing right in front of Draco and Sirius. 

“Er, yeah,” Sirius said, staring down at the tiny redhead. 

“May I see?”

“Uh, if you want…” Sirius said, trailing off and giving Draco a searching look. 

“Sure! Dad, I’m going to go with Mr Black and Draco. I’ll see you at the game!” she shouted, grabbing Draco and Sirius by the hand and dragging them off. 

Sirius looked mildly bemused for a moment before he began to laugh. 


	4. Surprise in the Top Box

**Disclaimer: If you know it, it is likely from _Goblet of Fire_ and I fail to own that. **

* * *

Ginny pulled Sirius and Draco along till they were out of sight of the camp and the cabins came into view. She let go of both of them and apologized for taking charge, her ears going a little pink.

“It’s fine,” Sirius easily said. “You’re…Ginny, right?”

“Yes. I’m also Atlanta’s my best friend,” Ginny chirped, giving Sirius a grin. 

Sirius raked a hand through his hair. “Hope she says only nice things about me…”

Ginny smiled and nodded, studying the cabins as the group ambled forward. “They don’t look like much, do they?”

Ginny was correct. The cabins looked like tiny log shacks— similar to the one Hagrid resided in, only less homey.

“Never judge something in the wizarding world by the outside,” Sirius reminded the two, producing a key. 

They approached the cabin that had been assigned to Sirius. It was the most pathetic looking abode out of all the cabins. It’s roof was green and molding, the windows foggy and kind of broken, and the front porch looked as if it might crumble at any moment. When they stepped onto the porch, though, the entire thing fixed itself and the whole places, while still looking like not much, fixed itself to appear brand new. Sirius slotted the key into the lock and tossed the door open. Draco allowed Ginny to enter before him and heard her gasp.

“This is better than a tent,” Ginny proclaimed. “Wow.”

Draco entered and felt as if he’d walked into one of the many pureblood residences he’d seen in his lifetime. Judging by the look on Sirius’ face, he was thinking something similar. The whole place appeared like a manor— plush furniture, rich fabrics, bold paint colors and shining floors. 

Basically, it looked nothing like a cabin. 

“Well, at least it’s bright,” Sirius muttered, peering out the window. 

Ginny hurried into the sitting room off the entry and peered out the window. Draco followed her, standing by her side as she watched the comings and goings from the other cabins.  

“Sorry to invite myself along,” she apologized yet again. “I didn’t really want to witness Percy’s…well…then Oliver…”

“Does your brother work for Crouch?” Sirius asked, entering the room. He looked around the room and appeared less than impressed. 

“Yeah, he does. He worships the guy and the man doesn’t even know his name,” Ginny scoffed. 

“I read something about cauldrons in the paper,” Draco said conversationally.

“Yeah. Percy was working on something about bottom thickness, though recently they’ve been dealing with the international implications of the release of the Slytherin Journals,” Ginny dismissively said. “There’s also something super secret going to on this fall. Percy’s been dropping hints left and right. Said it’s classified. Like they’d tell him anything classified.”

Sirius chortled. “Yeah, doubtful. He’s a worker bee. I’m going to check out the kitchen.”

Sirius ambled out and banged through the rest of the so called cabin. Ginny sunk into one of the chairs in the room and let out a sigh. 

“What?” Draco asked, flopping onto the couch across from her.

“Must be nice,” she said wistfully, her hand lightly brushing the fabric of the chair. 

“I think Sirius would rather stay in a tent,” Draco said, shrugging his shoulders. “I didn’t even know about these things.”

“I think they’re for very important people,” Ginny suggested, turning to look out the front window. “The Minister of Magic is staying at the one across the road from you, then there’s the Irish and Bulgarian ministers…”

“I see.”

Lucius Malfoy didn’t rate as high as he thought on the Minister’s list, seeing as the Malfoy’s had stayed at the camp site the last time around. Draco smirked.

“I think it’s nice they gave the last one to Mr Black,” Ginny said, turning back to face Draco, who quickly dropped his smirk. “After what they did…and he was innocent. How is he? Atlanta said he’s…better than he was.”

“He is. He’s still…he’s got a ways to go still, but he no longer looks like a Muggle vampire.”

Ginny giggled. “A Muggle Vampire?”

“Yeah. That’s what Harry thought he was when he saw the photo in the paper last summer,” Draco laughed then told Ginny about it further. 

* * *

“We’re not going the way Fudge told me to go. We’re going to go back and find the others. We’re going with the normal people,” Sirius insisted, hurrying Ginny and Draco out the front door of the cabin after feeding them dinner. “I hate all this special treatment.”

“Of course you do,” Draco drawled.

“I do. I’m only here for the Quidditch.”

“Here, here,” Ginny agreed as they headed back down the path towards the campsite.

The sense of excitement was palpable as they got nearer to the masses. Draco could hear the salesmen along the path to the stadium shouting about their goods. Draco grinned, glad Sirius had wanted to head to the stadium with everyone else and not with the Ministers. Ginny, Draco and Sirius found the Weasleys (minus Ministry Brown Noser) and Zabini and Harry where they’d left them. The group was talking over one another as they ate their dinner of grilled something, while watching others begin their trek to the stadium as the sun began its journey to set. People paraded passed with squealing shamrocks, Bulgarian scarves that had lions that roared and several people were singing national anthems, each trying to out do one another. 

“Sirius!” Harry shouted, waving his hand around above his head. Once Sirius was closer Harry said in a low tone, “I forgot to bring any pocket money. Or money in general, as I don’t actually have pocket money.”

“That’s fine, kid,” Sirius said. “I got you covered. Do you need pocket money?”

“No. I don’t think so. I usually have a bit left over after I buy books and stuff that I use. I just forgot it,” Harry explained, cheeks turning pink. 

The group made their way into the forest after the Weasleys and guests were done with their meals. Once they were on their way, they were all bombarded with salesmen stationed every few feet, carrying a wide array of trays and pushing carts filled with Irish or Bulgarian themed junk. Last time around, Draco had gotten one of everything, insisting he HAD to have it. The spells on the themed merchandise wore off after a few days and the stuff had mysteriously vanished by the time he left for school. 

“Do you want anything, Draco?”

Draco startled at the sound of Sirius’ voice. 

“Program? Dancing shamrock? Scarf with a roaring lion?” Sirius offered, eyes alive with glee at the thought of the items.

“Been saving my pocket money all summer for this,” Draco heard Weasley announce somewhere behind him. 

“Wow, look at these!” Harry exclaimed somewhere ahead of Draco.

“Well?” Sirius pressed, still looking at Draco. 

Draco felt overwhelmed. “Program would be nice. I don’t need anything else.”

Sirius stared at Draco for a moment, a look of confusion and doubt painting his chiseled features. He looked like he wanted to ask questions— the doubt that Draco was a Malfoy was clear in his expression. 

“Sirius!” Harry shouted, jumping up and down. “Omnioculars! The guy said they play-by-play. It slows down the playing so you can see too! Oliver said that professional Quidditch is played really fast. Can I get one? They are only ten Galleons. Is that a lot? I’m not good at the conversion between pounds and Galleons.”

Harry bounced up and down before Sirius like a little kid. Sirius chuckled and steered the bouncing Harry back towards the cart with the Omnioculars. Out of the corner of his eye, Draco noticed Weasley, laden down with various Irish goodies, looking longingly at the Omnioculars.  

“Here, McFly,” Sirius said, handing a pair to Draco.

“Excuse me?”

“I thought Harry was introducing you to on Muggle culture?” Sirius asked, looking honestly baffled by Draco’s lack of knowledge of what McFly meant. “He made me watch these time travel movies the other night at Park Quad. American.”

Draco blankly stared at Sirius. The only part he understood was they watched them on the magical television Tom and Addy had that resided at Park Quad, as the pair were rather adept at converting Muggle technology to work alongside magic. 

Sirius shrugged, thrusting the Ominoculars at Draco again. Draco took them silently, staring at the brass contraption. 

“Thank you,” Draco automatically responded.

“You’re welcome. Come on,” Sirius urged, grabbing Draco by the shoulder and steering him through the woods. 

The group ahead of them was merrily chatting, studying everyone else’s purchases. As they neared the stadium, Harry appeared at Draco’s elbow. 

“So, I take it you had one of everything last time?” Harry quietly asked as Mr Weasley began to explain to Sirius (for reasons unknown) how the Ministry task force had built the stadium in a year. (“It’s seats a hundred thousand and tickets are sold out!”)

“Yes, you’re correct,” Draco admitted, then added holding up the Ominoculars, “Granted, these things are worth the gold.”

“The magic won’t wear off after tonight?” Harry inquired.

Draco blinked at Harry in surprise.

“What? Tom warned me that the stuff they sell at these types of things has weak magic that wears off over time. These, though, looked like proper binoculars. Well, with lots of extra knobs.”

Harry held the Ominoculars up to his bright eyes and flicked a knob. 

“So, who wins?”

“I’m not telling you,” Draco said as they neared an entrance that was surrounded by a swarm of yelling people. 

“This entrance is only for prime tickets!” shouted a Ministry witch taking the tickets.

“It might not be fixed, so who knows if it’ll go as it did last time,” Draco said into Harry’s ear as Mr Weasley handed over his lot’s tickets. 

“Stupid fixed events,” Harry muttered, drawing closer to Sirius as the people around them pushed and shoved.

The stairwell that lead up to the Prime Seats was new to Draco. Last time they’d just entered and were filtered out later into seating areas the higher they climbed. This time there seemed to be a method to the madness— even if no one wanted to actual deal with the method used. (Hence the huge crowd of people clearly not holding Prime Seats tickets around the Prime Seats entrance.) 

“Wow,” Harry breathed. “That’s sure purple.”

Draco looked down at the deep purple carpet under his feet as he climbed the stairs. Draco wished they’d magic the stairs to carry them up the whole way to the Top Box, but like last time he was forced to climb who knew how many floors till they reached the small box set at the highest point of the stadium dead center between the goals.

“Whoa,” Harry breathed the moment they entered. 

“Wow,” Sirius said, his voice betraying his wonder despite of being a member of the wizarding community his entire life. “This is…”

“Amazing,” Harry finished.

Draco counted the seats in the box. There were about twenty purple and gold chairs in two rows. The Weasley party filed into the first row, just as they had last time. Harry was completely distracted by the ads being written in gold across the blackboard on the other side of the stadium. Harry was hanging over the railing so far, Sirius grabbed his collar to prevent the Boy-With-A-Death-Wish from falling. 

Draco scanned the box again, frowning when he noticed a House Elf sitting with its hands over its face at the end of the second row. It was dressed in a grimy tea towel and was quaking in fear.

“Are you alright?” Draco asked, walking down the second row to where the Elf sat, an empty seat next to her on the left. 

The tiny creature slowly lifted its head and spread its fingers to reveal enormous muddy brown eyes and a nose that looked like a squashed tomato. 

“Did sir just ask me-me-me a question?” squeaked the elf in a high pitched voice.

“You seem frightened,” Draco observed, studying the Elf.

“I is fine, sir,” the Elf quaked, clearly not fine. 

Draco frowned.

“I is saving a seat for Master,” the Elf offered, covering her eyes again. “I is doing what I is told.”

“That’s…good,” Draco decided as a few more people entered the box. 

Draco sat, feeling something was amiss. The Elf put her hands back over her eyes. Draco watched as Mr Weasley leapt to his feet to greet yet another person. Why the man kept sitting back down was beyond Draco. Sirius, knowing everyone would gawk, didn’t bother to sit. Harry, meanwhile, hid behind his godfather and went completely unnoticed by the important witches and wizards entering the box until Fudge entered with the Bulgarian Minister of Magic. 

“Harry Potter!” Fudge bellowed. “Good evening, Mr Bla— I mean, Lord Black.”

“Lord Black?” the Bulgarian minister asked, his accent thick. 

Fudge peered at the man as if he’d not spoken English and loudly said, “Harry Potter, you know?”

The other man, stared at Fudge as if he were a moron. Fudge, of course, took this as he didn’t speak English.

“Harry Potter! Oh, come on now, you know who he is. The boy who survived You-Know-Who! You do know who he is, right?”

Sirius appeared to be on the brink of bursting out into loud laughter, but instead said something in what Draco could only assume was Bulgarian. The minister lit up like a light bulb and began conversing with Sirius happily. Fudge looked almost relieved till he realized it was Sirius Black. Fudge was in fact somewhat scared of the former prisoner. 

“I wasn’t aware you spoke anything other than English, Black.”

Silence fell in the Top Box at the drawling, cold voice that rang above the chattering in Bulgarian and English. Sirius tensed up, his stormy grey eyes blazing as he took in a person Draco had not laid an eye on in over a year.

Lucius Malfoy did not look worse for his banishment to France. He looked exactly the same in fact, if not better. 

What on Earth was he doing here?

Harry glanced at Draco, who made a face and shrugged.

“Ah, Lucius, so glad you could make it!” Fudge greeted, relieved to see Lucius. 

“Of course. I wouldn’t dare miss this,” the tall man drawled, his cold eyes sweeping over the row of redheads, Sirius, Harry and finally landing on Draco who was still sitting next to the frightened House Elf. 

“Of course not! I’m so glad you’re back in the country,” Fudge went on babbling.

Draco blinked. Sirius fisted his hands.

“I know. My time in Europe was well spent,” Lucius offered cryptically.

“He spent the past year in Europe,” Fudge loudly said to the Bulgarian minister. “Raising money for magical maladies. He made a very generous contribution to our own hospital, St. Mungo’s.” 

“How—how nice,” Mr Weasley said when no one said anything. He wore a very strained smile while Sirius appeared to want to punch Lucius and the Bulgarians appeared greatly confused by the sudden tension in the box. 

The Bulgarian minister’s eyes darted between Lucius and Sirius. He decided he’d rather talk to Sirius (who could blame him) and began speaking in gibberish. Sirius was happy to oblige. 

“Where’s Barty?” Fudge suddenly asked, turning around. “I see his House Elf has saved him a seat, but where is he? I must know what he’s saying.”

Fudge jerked a thumb towards Sirius and the Bulgarian minister. 

No one replied. Draco peered at the frighted House Elf, who was so scared out of her mind, she failed to take in anything going on. Sirius picked Harry up (much to Harry’s embarrassment) and set him in the seat in front of Draco so he could get a better view of the game. Sirius sat down next to Draco. 

“Do you know how long he’s been back?” Sirius asked. “Your mother…she said…”

Sirius didn’t finish. Most of the wizarding community knew that Narcissa had lost her cool after the Diary Debacle and kicked Lucius out of the house. While this was rather unseemly behavior for a high society witch, due to the fact her own son and Harry Potter had been in danger, the community allowed her some leeway. 

“I think I know why she insisted we move in with you, though,” Draco said in a low voice, eyeing his father, who was kowtowing to Fudge and a few other important wizards who weren’t Bulgarian. 

Sirius nodded, turning his attention back to the Bulgarian minister, who’d plopped down next to him. 

“HELLO! Is everyone ready!?” bellowed Ludo Bagman as he charged into the box. His face gleamed with excitement. The oversized bumblebee failed to pick up on the tense vibes.

“Ready when you are, Ludo,” Fudge happily said. 

Ludo took out his wand and pointed it at this throat, muttering the spell to make his voice fill the entire stadium. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome! Welcome to the final of the four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup!”

A massive noise erupted from the stadium, filling Draco’s ears. Despite having viewed the game before, Draco felt a quiver of excitement. Harry turned around and grinned at Draco, moved into the empty seat next to him and patted the one he’d just been in. When he was sure his father was looking, Draco vaulted over the seat and landed next to Harry.

The look of disgust on Lucius’ face made it worth while. Draco turned his attention to the oncoming game, exchanging excited smiles with Harry and then Ginny.  


	5. Shenanigans At Large

**Disclaimer: If you know it, it is likely from _Goblet of Fire_ and I fail to own that. **

* * *

The game played out as it had before. Victor Krum caught the Snitch, but Ireland won. 

Harry wound up standing on his chair the entire game, the Ominoculars pressed to his face. Sirius stood behind him holding onto a belt loop on Harry’s jeans to prevent the overly excited boy from toppling out of the box. While the Bulgarians and just about everyone else thought this was utterly adorable, Lucius Malfoy looked as if he was going to throw up. After the game was over, he swept out of the box before the teams made their way into the box to accept the felicitations of everyone important for a good game. 

Victor Krum limped into the box with his broken nose once more, making Weasley almost faint with giddiness at the sight of the great Seeker. Krum didn’t notice anyone, simply glowered while he was congratulated for a great game with blood streaming out of his nose and down the front of his Quidditch robes.  

The twins were besides themselves when Bagman handed them their gold they’d won before leaving the Top Box. Draco was sure their eyes were the size of Galleons. 

“Don’t worry, Dad,” one of the twins said (Draco was sure he was Fred) once they were back on the ground heading for the camp, “we’ve got big plans for this money. We don’t want it confiscated.”

Mr Weasley appeared to want to say something else, but changed his mind in favor of talking to Sirius, who had lost the Bulgarians at some point during the chaos to exit the stadium. 

Harry was still watching various highlights of the game through his Ominaculars as the group made their way back to the campsite. A few times Draco had to catch Harry before he face-planted into the ground. The group reached the Weasley’s campsite and everyone was still discussing the game with such passion, Draco failed to notice he was inside the tent and talking Seeker tactics with Bill Weasley till someone set a mug of hot coco in front of him. All the talk lasted till Ginny fell asleep at the table, her head knocking over her mug of hot chocolate, spilling it all over the floor. After that, Sirius figured it was best to let everyone get some sleep as they all had early morning Portkeys home. 

* * *

“Harry wake up!”

Draco shook said boy till Harry startled awake with a shout about Wronski Feints.

“Draco?” Harry asked blearily, rubbing his eyes. 

“It’s happening again,” Draco whispered, still clutching to Harry’s forearm.

“What?”

“The Death Eaters, the Muggles hanging from the air and the-the-the-the—”

Draco couldn’t even get the word out. Harry, finally waking up to the point he realized something was greatly amiss, grabbed Draco by the wrist gently and pried Draco’s fingers off his arm. 

“What’s going on, Draco?”

“HARRY!”

Draco jumped at the sound of Sirius’s bellow. There was commotion somewhere within the cabin and the door to Harry’s room burst open reveal several Ministry wizards and witches along with Sirius, who appeared livid. 

“What’s going on?” Harry asked, looking from Sirius and the crew of Ministry wizards and witches to Draco. 

“I don’t know what—” Sirius started, but Mr Crouch overrode him. 

“Lord Black, we need to where the boy’s wand is located.”

“Honestly, Barty,” one of the wizards sighed somewhere behind him. 

Mr Crouch threw a cold look over his shoulder while Sirius sighed heavily. 

“My wand?” Harry asked, looking bewildered. 

“Where’s your wand?” Crouch demanded. “I’ve information I need to verify.” 

Harry stared blankly at Sirius for a moment before looking to Draco. Draco gave Harry a look that hopefully said _I don’t know_ and stared at his feet. Harry scrambled out of bed and picked up the jeans he’d worn and began searching the pockets. 

“Oh, no,” Harry moaned, expression going for confused to alarmed at finding his pockets empty.

“Is this your wand?”

Harry turned around. Mr Crouch was extending a wand out before him as if it were a dead cat. 

“Yeah, that’s mine!” Harry exclaimed. “Where’d you find it?”

Mr Crouch scowled at Harry. 

“The last spell this wand cast was the Dark Mark,” Crouch said, spitting out the last word as if it were a vile curse word.

The wizards behind Mr Crouch all shuffled their feet looking anywhere except at Harry or Sirius.

“I doubt Harry did it,” Sirius pointed out. “Both boys have been here since before the Death Eater all got together to act like morons.”

“He’s also Harry Potter,” someone else muttered within the group behind Crouch. 

“Death Eaters?” Harry faintly asked. “What is going on?”

Everyone in the room stared at Harry as if he had two heads as he was looking at Draco, who was clinging to the bedpost as if he were on a drowning ship.

Draco felt like he was drowning.

All he could see— still— was the ugly, green, eerie shape of a skull with a snake through its mouth in the dark sky, only it wasn’t the campgrounds in his head, but Hogwarts where the ugly symbol rose above.

His arm was burning. 

It hurt.

There was no Dark Mark on his arm and yet his arm felt like it was on fire.

“Harry, I doubt Draco knows. He was here,” Sirius covered. “Now, if that is all—” 

“When did you loose your wand, boy?” Crouch demanded.

“How’d you even know it was his?” Sirius asked, the tone of his voice shifting so it carried more authority than Crouch’s demand. 

Crouch eyed Sirius for a moment, his expression stony. 

“My son recognized it,” Mr Weasley said from somewhere in the group. “Percy was sure it belonged to Harry.”

Harry stared down Crouch, who was still holding the wand out as if it was something disgusting. 

“I don’t remember, sir,” Harry said, a bite to his voice. “I am underaged so I don’t preform magic outside of school. I was advised, though, to have my wand on my person in case of an emergency arose. Since no emergency happened, I do not remember loosing it. The last time I saw it was this morning when I put it in my pocket.”

This was not good news to Mr Crouch.

“Your House Elf must have stolen it,” someone said from behind Crouch. 

This incensed Crouch even more. “Winky would never—”

“She was discovered at the scene of the crime! She admitted the wand—”

Mr Crouch slammed the wand on a near by table, whirled around, and stormed out of the cabin. Sirius hustled everyone else out, leaving Harry alone with Draco. 

“Explain.”

Draco, still clutching the bedpost, took a deep breath. 

“Last time, uh, Father and some of his friends had a little too much to drink and…I don’t know why in all honesty, but they dressed up in their Death Eater costumes, hung the Muggles in charge of the campsite upside down and paraded around being….idiots.”

Harry nodded.

Draco swallowed thickly. “They all scattered once someone cast the Dark Mark.”

“And what’s that?”

Draco clutched the bedpost harder, staring at the mussed duvet on Harry’s bed as if it would speak the words unable to leave Draco’s mouth. 

He felt foolish for being so frightened. He wasn’t a scared little fourteen-year-old wizard, mentally he was…a lot older than that. And yet, he was scared silly. 

“Draco, please? I need to know.”

Draco dragged his eyes off the duvet to meet very green eyes. He eased his grip on the bedpost.

“It’s his mark. His symbol. Voldemort,” Draco whispered. Harry’s expression of understanding without any pity eased the fear and fright coiled in Draco’s chest. “The Death Eaters cast it each time they kill— to let the world know what they’ve done in the name of the Dark Lord. It’s also the symbol he uses to brand his followers. No one died this time, someone just cast it to show support for what the others were doing. I don’t think they ever figured out who cast it. No one ever came forward either.”

Silence fell in the room, only punctuated by the noise of the campsite calming down after the Death Eater Riot.

“You were a Death Eater, weren’t you?”

Draco only nodded his response. 

“You were a kid!”

“I know,” Draco cried, his face was tight with tension. “You think I don’t know that!? I had to grow up fast once I was marked and it…it…”

Harry looked ashamed and moved quickly to put a comforting hand on Draco’s shoulder.

“Why didn’t you tell me? When you told the story?”

“I…I didn’t think it was relevant at the time,” Draco admitted. “It’s not something I am proud of.”

“It’s a major reason you’re here,” Harry quietly said. 

Draco let go of the bedpost. Harry squeezed his shoulder. 

“I know you told me a lot at the end of the year last year, but I think it’s time to get more details.”

Harry let go of Draco’s shoulder and swung himself off the bed. 

“I’ll write to Hermione,” Harry started. “She’s not summering in France again is she? We need to have a pow-wow.”

“Excuse me?”

Harry grinned at Draco over his shoulder as he grabbed a piece of parchment and a quill off the desk in the room. 

“A meeting of the minds. I know you told me that this coming year’s a big thing and Hermione said she’d let me look at that scroll you two are keeping. We need a plan of action for this year. It’s a big important year. Marv is coming back and I think the shenanigans are only just beginning.”

Only Harry Potter would call a riot started by Death Eaters shenanigans. 

* * *

After assuring Narcissa they were fine and getting permission to send the form required to be able to see 12 Grimmauld Place to Hermione, the two boys escaped to the library. As it neared afternoon, Harry began to get restless. 

“Should we get Tom?” Harry asked, sitting down in the reading alcove across from Draco. 

“Why?” Draco asked, trying to hide the surge of jealousy that flared up. He kept his eye on the book he was reading about the history of the Black family. 

“Well, he knew Addy. She might have known something and told him,” Harry offered. “And Atlanta and Tom are part of this, as they were there when you told us the truth. It’d not be fair to keep Atlanta out of this.”

“Fine. We can go to Park Quad after Hermione gets here.”

“We’ll have to tell Sirius then, as Hermione won’t be able to go unless someone tells her where Park Quad is,” Harry reminded Draco. “I’ll go get them. Be right back.”

Harry leapt to his feet and vanished. Draco closed his book and blankly stared out the window till he heard the doorbell’s ringing noise filling the house. Knowing that was Hermione (Who else would be ringing the bell? Everyone else who knew where 12 Grimmauld was in the house or had Floo access), Draco stood up to ready himself to receive her. 

A minute passed before the library door open and Dobby led Hermione into the library. Draco watched as her whole being lit up at the sight of the gigantic room filled to the ceiling with books as far as the eye could see.

“Wow,” she breathed.

“Master Draco, Miss Hermione to see yous,” Dobby said politely. 

“Thank you, Dobby,” Draco replied. 

“Is you needing anything, Master Draco?”

“No. I’m fine.”

Dobby bowed and vanished in a crack. Hermione was too busy staring at books to notice the exchange or jerk when Dobby cracked off to where ever he went during the day. 

Draco cleared his throat. 

“Oh. Sorry. Hello, Draco. How’s your summer been?” she asked, throwing her arms around him and hugging him. Draco froze for a moment, something strange happening in his chest for till she let go. “I heard what happened at the World Cup. I’m so glad you and Harry are okay.”

“Oh. Uh, yeah. Guess it was okay you didn’t want to join us,” Draco stuttered, feeling his cheeks stain pink. 

“I would have loved to join you just to simply see the wonder, but my parents had already planned our holiday. We only got back last night,” Hermione explained. “There’ll be another World Cup, right?”

Draco nodded. Hermione was still standing somewhat close to him. He cleared his throat, trying to figure out what was wrong with him. 

“Harry’s gone to get Tom and Atlanta. He seems to think we must include them as they were in our group when we told Harry the truth.”

Hermione nodded and took a step back, bowing her head a little and moving passed Draco. She stepped into the reading alcove and sat down. She pulled her bag into her lap and extracted the worn scroll they kept their time traveling notes on. 

“I do not see a problem, as they already know. Atlanta could be a great help if we need her to be,” Hermione allowed. “Tom also might be able to keep Harry in check. Harry seems to listen to Tom more than he does to either of us. It’s important. Especially this year. I re-read the notes you wrote down on everything that happened this coming school year and I’m afraid things might be very fixed.”

“Why do you say that?”

Draco sat down across from her as she spread the parchment out flat. 

“Big, important events tend to be fixed. Here,” Hermione paused, reaching into her bag and pulling out a Muggle notebook. She tapped it with her wand before opening it up to reveal pages upon pages of Hermione’s neat handwriting. “I wrote down everything that happened in your original timeline the first three years and what happened this time around.”

She turned the notebook to him and shoved it across the table. 

Draco read over what she had written down and realized what she was trying to tell him. Sitting back, he raked a hand through his hair and sighed. 

“Basically, if it involves Marv, then it’ll happen again,” Draco muttered. 

“Seems to be the case,” Hermione agreed. “Granted, each time it is likely different from the original timeline since you are interfering. The first time you said the Golden Trio went into the maze under the school. We never did that.”

“We threw stinky water at Quirellmort instead,” Draco dryly remarked.

“Exactly! In the end it was…it was less detrimental to all involved,” Hermione said, sneaking peaks at the library around her. “Quirell’s at least alive.” 

“True and you can roam free after we get this done,” Draco told her, trying not to laugh. 

Hermione startled, blushed, then nodded.

&*&*&*&*&*&*&*

Harry returned with Atlanta ten minutes later. Once Tom was let out, Hermione gave Harry access to the Time Scroll for the first time. Harry took it, and with Tom looking over his shoulder, he read about Potter’s adventures. By the time Harry was done, he was a sickly shade of green.

“Why would Dumbledore allow Potter to compete in this asinine tournament?” Tom snapped, banging his fist on the table. 

It went straight through and Tom stumbled forward, cursing darkly.  

“The contract is binding,” Hermione said. “Once his name came out of the Goblet, he had to compete or he’d die.”

“That was likely the plan,” Atlanta said. “His death.”

“No,” Hermione said. “If I’m understanding this correctly…”

She trailed off, flipping through her notebook.

“Okay. Draco’s father told him about the tournament, told him it would lead to something great,” Hermione said, still flipping pages. 

“He said it’d bring greatness back,” Draco corrected. 

“He also started speaking about sending you to another school,” Hermione pointed out, stopping when she found what she wanted. “While he was always friendly with the headmaster of Durmstrang, he never talked about sending you there until your fourth year— why?”

“Because they focused more on the Dark Arts,” Draco said.

“But they always were. Why wait till fourth year to start talking about it?” Hermione pressed.

“Oh,” Tom said, clutching the cube in his hands as he sat down, “he was worried about you being in Britain when Voldemort returned. I’m sure…I’m sure as a follower, he knew Snake Face was growing stronger.”

Everyone looked baffled. 

“Oh, come on. The Dark Mark links all his followers back to him. It faded after he vanished, so as he gains power, it will get…stronger again. In coloring. If he did the spell I think he did. So, your father, being marked, will know.” 

Atlanta absently rubbed her left forearm, shuddering. Tom’s eyes darkened as he watched her. Draco found himself holding his own left arm and quickly dropped it. 

“Why would Draco’s father be worried?” Hermione asked. “I thought he _liked_ Marv?”

“Marv?” Tom faintly chuckled. “I think I like that. Marv.”

Atlanta tried to elbow Tom and failed. Harry did it for her. 

“Are you telling me Father wanted me out of the country to protect me? He was the reason I wound up becoming a Death Eater! He was the entire reason—”

Draco stopped shouting. His chest heaved for a few moments and he attempted to get his emotions in check.

Hermione put a hand on his shoulder. “Maybe he didn’t want you to…uh, see that till you were of age?”

“Or at all,” Harry suggested looking like he’d swallowed a lemon. 

“Harry’s right,” Hermione said quietly.  “Think about it. Your father is proud, so of course he’d never admit he made a mistake. He might believe in Marv, but he also knew Marv was…”

“Off his rocker?” Harry offered. Tom snorted. 

“Yes. Maybe he wanted you gone till Marv was in control and the new age he promised had been ushered in,” Hermione suggested. “You were to return after the war was fought.”

Draco stared at Hermione. 

“Touching,” Tom drawled. “So, what are we going to do about Harry being entered in this Death Match?”

“We need to know who entered him,” Hermione said. 

“Marv’s minion,” Harry said. “Who was it?”

Everyone stared at Draco.

“That, I do not know. Whoever he was, he pretended to be Mad Eye Moody,” Draco explained. “Father never outright told me who the most loyal servant to the Dark Lord happened to be. After Marv returned…well, Father wasn’t so forthcoming with information.”

“What happened to the guy who was pretending to be Mad Eye Moody?” Tom inquired. “They ought to have hauled him off to Azkban.”

Draco frowned. “Fudge covered the whole thing up, refused to admit Marv had returned…so, no one knew what was going on unless they were on the inside. I knew the Dark Lord had returned, but I did not understand the details of his return. Nor did I ever know who’d pretended to be Mad Eye Moody.”

“He needed Harry’s blood,” Tom announced, his expression going bleak. “This whole thing is a ploy to get Harry’s blood.”

They all gawked at Tom, who was scowling darkly, his dark blue eyes darting left and right as he thought things over. He stopped suddenly and looked at Atlanta. 

“Atlanta, if you could come with me, please?”

Tom stood up and swiftly stalked off. Atlanta scrambled to her feet and followed Tom. A few minutes later the pair returned carrying a thick, old, moldy book. Atlanta set it down on the table, looking a little confused and uneasy.

“Will it scream at us?” Atlanta asked, as her eyes trailed around the space around it.

“Hey! That’s one of the books we couldn’t reach,” Harry said.

“She’s taller than you,” was all Tom offered.

Harry pressed his lips together. Hermione stared between the pair, a look of confusion on her face until she looked at Tom and Atlanta, who were almost the same height. 

“How is she taller then me? Why is everyone taller than me? It’s not fair!”

Harry threw himself onto the table. 

Tom made an impatient noise. Hermione grabbed the book from Atlanta (who was too busy watching the magic ooze out of the book) and began to flick the pages till Tom told her to stop.

“There. That’s what he wants to do,” Tom said, making a face of disgust. “He’ll tweak it, of course, but that’s basically what he plans to do.”

Draco, Hermione, Harry and Atlanta gathered around the book to read the spell. Atlanta finished first and gagged. Hermione made a noise of revulsion and Harry went pale.

“Who’d chop off a limb for that maniac?” Harry faintly asked. 

“Oh, you’d be surprised,” Draco said, thinking of his aunt— who was safely locked away at the moment in Azkaban. 

“So, this is how…how he gets his body back?” Atlanta asked, sounding scared. “He’ll be back?”

She was white and clutching her left forearm. Tom eyed her worriedly. Harry reached over (he was closest) patted her on the back a few times, looking a little awkward. 

“Yes. We’re thinking it’s a fixed event,” Draco flatly said. 

She went even whiter, her amber blue eyes flickering between blue and amber till the blue won out and she sat up straighter and nodded at Harry, who dropped his hand back to his side. A fierce expression broke out on his face. 

“We can’t let that happen!” Harry shouted. “We have to stop him!”

“I know, Harry. But it won’t be simple as just doing something to stop him from getting what he wants. He will come back. Fixed events always happen,” Hermione said patiently. 

“But, but, but— someone dies! We can’t let Cedric die! How does he die?” Harry asked, looking at Draco.

“I, uh, I don’t know. Potter and Dumbledore said Voldemort killed him,” Draco said. “But, that was covered up as well by Fudge. We were all sitting in the stadium, waiting for someone to win and Potter showed up clutching the Triwizard Cup and Diggory’s dead body. Chaos followed and the next day Dumbledore made an announcement that Diggory had been killed by Lord Voldemort while Fudge and the paper said it was a tragic accident caused by the Triwizard Tournament.”

No one said anything for a long time.

“We gotta do something,” Harry moaned, staring at the spell book still open on the table. “Wait, you said they appeared with the Cup, right?”

Draco nodded.

“Alright. No touching cups,” Harry muttered. 

Tom quirked an eyebrow.

“The cup must have been a Portkey,” Hermione breathed, putting a hand over her mouth.

“Why would it be two ways?” Atlanta asked. “Most Portkeys are only one way. How’d they’d get back from where ever they’d gone? They did go somewhere, right?”

Draco nodded. “Voldemort did not return in the maze in the Quidditch Stadium. I agree the Cup took Potter and Diggory somewhere else.”

“Why’d it return them to Hogwarts?” Hermione asked. 

“Maybe Potter wasn’t supposed to use it,” Harry said, looking as if he didn’t want to think who was supposed to use it. No one wanted to think who that return Portkey had been meant for. 

Harry took a deep breath and began pacing the room. 

“We’ve got no clue how my name gets in the Goblet of Fire, but we can assume it’s the guy who is impersonating Moody, right?”

“Yes,” Draco agreed. 

“So, we’ll use the Marauder’s Map,” Harry cried, looking like a light bulb had gone off above his head. 

“OH!” 

“Of course!”  

“Brilliant!”

“That’s wonderful, Harry. The map will show us who he really is!”

Harry grinned. “So, then what?”

“We must tell Dumbledore someone is impersonating a professor,” Hermione logically said. 

“But, we can’t tell him about the map,” Harry whined.

“I’ll tell him,” Atlanta said, sitting up straight. “I can see magic. I can claim I can see…the Dark Mark. It does ooze magic. I don’t know if a Polyjuice potion can cover that, but I see it oozing magic all the time.”

“Wait, who do you—” Harry started. 

“There are lots of Death Eaters free, Harry,” Atlanta said darkly, standing up. Her expression closed off and she stood up. “Tom, I’d like to take my leave. Are you to remain?”

“No, I’ll go with you. Goodbye,” Tom said and vanished into Atlanta’s arm. Atlanta grabbed Tom’s block off the table and left.

“So, we’ll expose the impersonator and then…hopefully my name won’t pop out! Problem solved!”

Hermione and Draco exchanged looks. 

If only it was that easy. 


	6. Just Locked in a Moment, Not Dead

**Disclaimer: If you know it, it is likely from _Goblet of Fire_ and I fail to own that. **

* * *

“Dumbledore?”

Sirius stared at the man on his door stoop for a solid minute, blinking the sleep out of his eyes. It was almost two in the morning and there was a headmaster at his door. Sirius clearly was seeing things. 

Had the bell even rung?

Wait, how did Dumbledore know where the house was? 

“Good evening, Sirius. Or, morning I ought to say,” Dumbledore corrected with a soft chuckle. “Sorry to intrude this late— or early.”

“Yeah,” Sirius said, dumbly blinking.

“Might I come in?”

“Oh, yeah. Sure. How’d I know you were here? I was asleep,” Sirius said, stepping back to let the old man inside.

“I sent along a Patronus with a message. Somewhere in your head, you must have correctly assimilated the message,” Dumbledore easily replied. “I signed this for you as well.”

Sirius grunted, taking the roll of parchment from the old man. He wasn’t going to ask how Dumbledore had gotten the form that was required to see twelve Grimmauld Place. Dumbledore looked around the foyer while Sirius stuck the parchment into the umbrella stand near the door. 

“I take it the rest of the household is asleep?”

“Yeah.”

Dumbledore nodded, staring up the stairs. Sirius scrambled after the old man, following him into the front parlor. 

“Ah, this is cheery!” Dumbledore exclaimed upon walking into the room. “I take it your cousin redecorated everything?”

Sirius nodded. 

“Fascinating. She has wired the place with Muggle electricity. And it works,” Dumbledore faintly observed, flipping the light switch up and down. Sirius squinted each time the lights all blazed on. “How is that possible with all the magic?”

Sirius bit his tongue. It hadn’t been Narcissa, but himself with major help from Tom. There was just something about electrical lights Sirius liked over candlelight. 

“Oh, you can tell me later. There is something much more pressing to deal with at the moment,” Dumbledore said, taking out his pocket watch and leaving the lights on. “He will unlock soon. Could you call Kreacher?”

“Huh?” Sirius asked. “Unlock? Kreacher belongs to Remus.”

Dumbledore tucked the watch back into his pocket. 

“Ah, but I believe if you ask Kreacher if you might see Regulus, the Elf will appear.”

Sirius stared at the barmy old man before him wondering if he’d really lost his crackers. 

“I am not insane,” Dumbledore chuckled, reaching into the front pocket of his robes and pulling out a piece of yellowed, Muggle notebook paper. He extended it towards Sirius.

Sirius didn’t need to open the note to know who it was from. 

With shaky hands, Sirius reached forward and took it. 

_Gandolf,_

_By now you should have been visited by a House Elf and taken the necessary actions._

_I have come to realize time is a line with fixed points in time, but it can be rewritten. It’s a line, but a twisty one._

_I know you are confused to why I’ve done certain things, but I had to save him. I promised. I allowed my anger, stubbornness and pride stand in the way of the time I had with him. He took too long to come around without me around and I let him down._

_I know when he unlocks he’ll be pissed at me, but he’s got too much to offer the coming war. I’m not a warrior and I’m not as clever as he is. I also do not belong here. We both know that. Time will make sure I’m gone before I appear again._

_I’m sure you’ve tucked the Little Prince away. In answer to your question, he’ll unlock on his own on the date I locked him. (Listen to the spell.) You’ll need an antidote, so find the cave. If you need help finding one, seek out Batman._

_Hopefully, Padfoot will forgive the Little Prince as in the end— he was as brave as I always knew he’d be. He ought to have been in Gryffindor like his brother. In the end he was brave and very reckless._

_To those reading this: Don’t mourn me too much, or feel bad. I don’t (didn’t) belong here (there)._

_I’m misplaced in time._

_Best regards,_

_Adrasteia_

Sirius dropped the letter, letting it flutter to the floor.

“I always knew she was from the future,” Dumbledore said, breaking the silence. “There were only four people to ever see her as she truly was.”

“What?” Sirius asked, looking up from the floor he’d taken to studying in great detail. 

“You will remember Ms Black was, well, rather strange the night you first came in contact with her?”

“Yeah,” Sirius said, jamming his hands through his hair. 

“Ah, so you’ve figured it out on your own!”

Sirius made a dervish noise.

“Now, onto Regulus.”

“He’s dead.”

“No. Just frozen in a moment,” Dumbledore said. “She said so in her letter. She invented a spell, locked him in time and he’s unlocking tonight. In a few minutes. Best call Kreacher so I’ll be able to give him the antidote.”

Sirius’s mind was spinning in circles. 

“I assure you he’ll appear if you say it’s time for Master Regulus to wake,” Dumbledore encouraged softly.

“Kreacher, I need to find Regulus. He’s waking up. Kreacher!”

There was a loud crack and the ancient, old, mad elf with bat ears appeared.

“Bad son, blood traitor,” Kreacher muttered to himself. “Wants to see Master Regulus.”

“I do. He’s, uh, unlocking?”

Kreacher’s eyes went huge, looking over at Dumbledore for confirmation. Dumbledore nodded. 

“Kreacher is taking care of Master Regulus,” Kreacher said. “He is hidden safe and sound.”

“He will die if he does not get this when he wakes,” Dumbledore said, holding a vial out before Kreacher. “I must give it to him.”

Kreacher nodded. 

He reached forward and grabbed both Sirius’ wrist and Dumbledore’s, transporting them to Regulus’ bedroom across the hall from Harry’s room. Sirius looked around the room, finding it exactly how he remembered it looking, with the exception of a few things— one being the state of cleanliness. The room was clinically clean. The other odd thing was the figure on the bed was dressed in Muggle clothing. 

Sirius turned his attention to the odd form on the bed which Kreacher was hovering around. The body looked like some sort of absurd statue, lying awkwardly on the bed. 

Dumbledore glanced at his pocket watch again before pocketing it. “He will unlock soon.”

Dumbledore grabbed the desk chair and set it down next to the bed. 

Sirius stared at his brother, who did not look any older than he had the last time Sirius had seen him. The only jarring difference was the look of pain on the young face, frozen in horror at whatever he was seeing. Before Sirius could ask what had led to this moment, the man on the bed moved. He took a gut wrenching, painful sounding breath in and his limbs unfroze from their unnatural position. Kreacher let out a squeak and tried to make Regulus more comfortable.

“He needs this,” Dumbledore said, holding up the vial for Kreacher to see. Kreacher took a step backwards and allowed Dumbledore access to Regulus. 

Dumbledore made soothing murmurs as he poured the contents of the vial down Regulus’ throat. As soon as Regulus managed to swallow, he calmed down. His breathing evened out slowly and soon he was blinking his blue-grey eyes, focusing his eyes for the first time in fifteen years. Regulus made no attempt to sit up. He simply stared around his room in utter confusion. 

“Why am I in my bedroom?” Regulus asked, his voice crisp, sharp and sounding utterly upper class and only a little gritty from disuse. “Kreacher, I told you— Kreacher, what has happened to you?”

Regulus pushed himself onto his elbows, staring at the House Elf with an alarmed expression. 

“Master Regulus, I failed!” Krecaher wailed, throwing himself on the floor and beating his head against it. Regulus sat up and grabbed the Elf by the scuff of the neck, hauling him to his feet. 

Sirius wanted to cry. He wasn’t exactly sure if it was because his baby brother was alive  or the fact Regulus was more concerned about the House Elf than himself.  

“I failed! I did not follow your orders. I took you from the cave! I took Mistress Addy’s orders over yours! I failed you!”

“Excuse me?” Regulus asked.

Kreacher was unable to tell the tale, as he dissolved into tears. Dumbledore cleared his throat over the noise. Regulus jerked, almost dropping Kreacher. 

“Professor Dumbledore?” Regulus asked, looking alarmed and frightened. He carefully let go of Kreacher, who curled into himself and continued to sob. 

“I came to give you the antidote to the poison you drunk some fifteen years ago,” Dumbledore said pleasantly. 

Regulus imitated a fish then squeaked, “Fifteen years!?”

He looked away, then allowed his eyes to sweep the room once more— this time spotting his older brother.

“Sirius! Oh, no!” Regulus stared, his eyes looking as if they were going to pop out of his head. “You didn’t listen.”

“Do I ever?” Sirius asked softly.

“No. No, you don’t,” Regulus said sadly, staring at his brother. “Where is Add— Atlanta?”

Sirius quickly looked at the floor, while Dumbledore let out a small sigh. Dumbledore explained the entire tale to Regulus. Regulus issued no noise at all at the news of his girlfriend giving her life so he would live. Sirius peaked up through his lashes to find his brother very pale and his eyes rather wet. No tears fell, though. Regulus kept his pureblood mask in place to hide his emotions away from Dumbledore. 

“Kreacher? Why don’t you make us some tea?” Regulus asked so softly Sirius hardly heard him above Kreacher’s wails. 

With a crack, the Elf was gone and the room was deathly silent. 

“Regulus?” Dumbledore asked softly. 

“It’s a lot to take in, Headmaster,” Regulus admitted, sitting up straighter and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “I’ve…been frozen for fifteen years. Why did she do that?”

“I do not truly comprehend what her goal was, only that she understood that whatever you’d taken would take me quite some time to parse out in order to prevent your death,” Dumbledore explained calmly. He leaned forward a little. “I am not sure how, but she used a spell of her own creation that I’ve never been able to duplicate in order to study. And TR DeVinette is most unhelpful whenever I request his aid.”

Regulus snorted, the mask breaking a little to show his amusement at the news Tom was unhelpful. 

“Oh, do you know TR DeVinette?”

Regulus’ eyes slid over to Dumbledore, then to Sirius before looking back to Dumbledore.

“Yes, you could say that. I met him on a few occasions before he and Addy went into hiding after graduation,” Regulus lied through his teeth gracefully. 

Dumbledore extended his head, accepting the lie. 

“I believe it best if you actually slept now, Mr Black,” Dumbledore said, rising to his feet. “While you might believe you’ve done nothing except sleep these past fifteen years, you were in fact frozen in a moment of time. One your body was under great duress.”

“You were paused,” Sirius offered. “And now you’re playing from the moment you were paused.”

“So…oh. No wonder,” Regulus said, absently rubbing his left forearm. 

Sirius shivered, knowing what was under his brother’s sleeve. 

“I feel like I was…hit by a hippogriff,” Regulus muttered, turning his face away from Dumbledore and Sirius. He stared blankly out the window behind him. 

“I have a vial of Dreamless Sleep if you should wish it,” Dumbledore offered. 

Regulus turned back to Dumbledore. Sirius saw the debate in his younger brothers eyes and made the choice for the kid. 

“Leave it on the table. He’ll take it if he wants,” Sirius said.

Dumbledore nodded, set the vial down, and took his leave. Sirius shuffled his feet a few minutes before looking at his brother, who was staring blankly into space.

“A lot has happened, huh?” Sirius asked, laughing a little uncomfortably. 

“It has,” Regulus agreed, lowering his head. His too long hair fell into his face. “There is quite a bit to wrap my mind around.”

Kreacher cracked back into the room with a tea tray, looking a little frazzled. Regulus instructed the Elf to set it on the table and leave them. Kreacher cracked back out. 

“Harry’s in my old room across the hall,” Sirius suddenly announced. 

“So that came to pass,” Regulus sadly said. He looked up at Sirius suddenly, his grey-blue eyes huge and sad. 

“Yeah,” Sirius said, raking a hand through his hair. “Uh, Dumbledore didn’t mention it, but there’s, uh, another Atlanta Black here.”

Regulus frowned, his sad eyes going a little darker.

“She’s nothing like the girl you and I knew, though. She, uh, I guess she was once that girl, but due to the changes in the timeline enacted by Addy and, uh, Draco…”

“Malfoy is here?”

“Here as in this house? Yeah. Here as we finally found out where he time traveled to, well, that was a few years back, I guess.”

Regulus nodded, absently picking up a tea cup and staring at it. He swirled the liquid around in the cup for a moment before chugging the entire cup down.

“So, my Addy is gone,” Regulus said, a finality in his tone.

“Yeah. I’m sorry, Reg,” Sirius said softly. 

Regulus sighed, setting the tea cup down. His body language changed again. He was once more sitting up straight and all traces of his pain and sadness vanished. “What are we going to do? Everyone thinks I’m dead.”

Regulus was all business. Sirius had to blink a few times till he realized why this unsettled him so much: Regulus reminded him of their father. 

“I don’t know. I honestly thought Dumbledore would tell us what we were going to do,” Sirius admitted, running a hand through his hair again. “What are we going to tell Narcissa?”

“What do you mean? We’ve time to figure it out, do we not?”

“She’s here, too. She and Draco are spending the summer here. Actually, now that her husband is back in the country, she might actually just stay here.”

Regulus looked completely baffled.

“Let’s talk this over in the morning, okay? You need sleep, I need sleep. We’ve got to get the kids off to Hogwarts tomorrow morning. Or I guess this morning.”

Sirius sagged a little, knowing he’d have to be up in a few short hours to see Harry and Draco off. He put his face in his hand and sighed heavily. There was a lot to figure out and not a lot of time. 

“OH!” Sirius cried, looking up. “Flat Three, Seventeen Park Quad, Glasgow, Scotland.”

Regulus stared at Sirius blankly.

“If you wanna go see Tom. That’s the flat’s address.”

“Oh.”

“Remus and I became the Secret Keepers,” Sirius quietly said. “So, now you know. You can Floo there from here. I don’t know your relationship with Tom, but, uh, he’s there. Well, he might be. I think Atlanta might be taking him back to Hogwarts since he’s now suddenly friends with everyone.”

Regulus’ gave Sirius a strange look.

“Tomorrow. I’ll tell you tomorrow. I’m going to bed. Uh, night.”

Sirius hurried out of the room, shutting the door behind him. He stared at the door across the hall where Harry was fast asleep and shut his eyes tightly. 

How the hell was he going to explain this to everyone? 


	7. Wake Up Call

**Disclaimer: If you know it, it is likely from _Goblet of Fire_ and I fail to own that. **

* * *

Sunlight woke him, the heat and orange light causing sleep to leave rather quickly. Sitting up, Regulus squinted and attempted to make sense of the strange dream he’d had where Kreacher and Sirius had gotten old and Dumbledore had been in his bedroom sitting in his desk chair as if he sat there daily. 

Why hadn’t he closed his curtains? 

Getting up off the bed, Regulus noted he was dressed in Muggle clothing and not his night things. He stared around the perfectly neat room and felt a knot form in his stomach. 

Something was wrong. 

Clutching the bedcovers, he went over the parts of the dream he remembered. Dumbledore had claimed Regulus had been locked in a moment for the past fifteen years. To back up this sentiment, Dumbledore had provided Regulus with Sirius and Kreacher. 

Sirius had agreed with Dumbledore and was amazed to see Regulus.

“It wasn’t a dream,” Regulus whispered, fisting the sheets harder. Pain shot through his arms, so Regulus let go of the sheets and took stock of himself. 

On the surface, Regulus appeared as if nothing had happened. Inside, though, he felt like he’d been ripped apart and slowly stitched back together.

And his heart ached worst than normal. 

Addy was dead. 

They had told him Addy had froze him within a moment in a spell designed by her own hand and then took his place in death.  

“Where’s my broom?”

Regulus jerked at the sound of the unknown voice, air suddenly reaching his lungs. He’d stopped breathing and had failed to realized it. 

“Seriously, Harry?” drawled another voice from further down the stairs. “In the cupboard in the kitchen. Dobby!”

A loud crack echoed around the front entrance hall. 

“Here being your broom, Harry Potter.”

For a moment Regulus was mystified, till he remembered what Sirius had spoken of after Dumbledore had left.

Harry Potter lived in Sirius’ old bedroom across the hall from Regulus. 

Regulus slid out of the bed and crept across his room to the door, pressing his ear to it. 

“Thanks, Dobby!”

“Boys!” called a female voice that sounded like Narcissa. “You need to get your trunks down here.”

“Coming!” Harry shouted.

“Yes, Mother,” drawled the other voice.

The sound of slamming doors echoed all over the house. Regulus heard Sirius speaking, but was unable to make out what he was saying. Regulus opened his bedroom door, peeking into the hall. The door across the way was open, reveal a room that did not look anything like Sirius’ room. Regulus took a few timid steps across the landing and peered into the room. A few Muggle looking contraptions lay on the desk. Regulus was curious about the Muggle objects, but he wanted to see with his own eyes he was truly in the future. He walked towards the commotion in the foyer. 

“Did you find your broom?”

“Yeah, er, I think this is mine,” Harry’s voice replied. “Wait, this one belongs to Sirius. Mine is number seven, not five hundred and forty-seven.”

“Wouldn’t want you riding the wrong broom, now would we?” drawled the voice from before.

“Draco,” chided Narcissa’s voice.

Regulus stopped moving. 

Malfoy was here. The boy who’d sent Addy into the past, into Regulus’ life was in this house. 

How had Regulus forgotten that? 

Regulus walked a little faster— well, as fast as his legs would allow. He was still pretty sore from whatever poison he’d drunk in the cave some fifteen years prior.  

* * *

“Dobby is most sorry,” Dobby apologized for the millionth time for bringing Harry the wrong broom. 

“It’s fine,” Harry assured for the billionth time. 

“I believe we’ve got every—”

Narcissa let out a loud scream. Draco startled, looking up where his mother was pointing while shirking about ghosts. There was a young man staring down at them with large, blue-grey eyes the color of stormy oceans while clutching the railing in a death grip. The young man was too solid to be a ghost. Sirius rushed over to Narcissa and attempted to calm her down. This seemed to break the trance the other guy was in and he hurried down the stairs to the landing before the last flight of stairs, looking a combination of confused and troubled. 

“I’m sorry, Sirius. I wasn’t aware…I didn’t know…”

“It’s fine, Reggie,” Sirius said.

Narcissa ceased making noise. Harry looked between the two and back at Draco, questions in his eyes. Draco shrugged. He had no idea what was going on. If he had to hazard a guess, the young man was a Black relative, closely related to Sirius. He had raven hair that hung straight into his eyes. It was a bit long for a pureblood, but the rest of his features were straight out of the Black Family. 

It couldn’t possibly be Sirius’ brother, as Sirius had told Draco earlier this summer his brother was dead. 

The guy on the stairs wasn’t dead, as he was a solid form and didn’t look quite sure if he ought to continue onto the ground floor. 

“I guess this is as good of time as any to introduce you to everyone,” Sirius said, helping Narcissa to sit down on a bench in the entry. Dobby cracked into the room with a glass of water. Narcissa took it and held it in shaky hands. “Everyone, this is my younger brother Regulus.”

“You’re dead!” Narcissa exclaimed, her voice cracking at the end. 

“OH!” Draco shouted, things suddenly slotting into place. “You’re the one that should be dead that isn’t!”

Everyone stared at Draco.

Oops. 

“Excuse me?” Regulus inquired politely, giving Draco a look that he couldn’t place exactly.  

“Draco, what are you speaking of?” Narcissa demanded. “Regulus is dead.”

“But, I’m not,” Regulus said, eyes still not leaving Draco.

“OH!” Sirius shouted, looking at his cousin next to him with excitement. “Narcissa, didn’t you notice? On the family tapestry, Regulus didn’t have a death date. I figured you’d broke it or something, but look, he’s not dead! That’s what Draco was talking about, right?”

Draco quickly nodded, thankful to be saved by Sirius. 

“But he hasn’t aged in the last fifteen years,” Narcissa faintly said. “He looks the same.” 

“Excuse me.”

Everyone stared at Harry, who was clutching the handle of his Firebolt. Using it, he pointed at Regulus.

“Sirius’ brother is named Regulus, correct? And he’s supposed dead, right? Well, did any of you see a body? Was there ever any evidence he was actually dead?”

“Nope,” Sirius quickly agreed.

“The tapestry claimed he was dead,” Narcissa breathed. “It stated he was dead. I saw it. And look at him!”

“What about after you fixed it?” Sirius asked, ignoring Narcissa’s hangup on Regulus’ appearance. 

Maybe he’d used some sort of aging spell? Or something. Or he’d been thrust through time forward.

Time travel was always an option, technically.

“Draco and I noticed this summer, it said Regulus wasn’t dead. I figured you’d simply broke it or something when you repaired all the burn holes.” 

Narcissa frowned, but stopped trying to break the glass in her hands. She was deathly pale, but nodded before looking back at Regulus. Her blue eyes scanned the man standing on the landing, still looking a little unsure if he wanted to continue down the stairs or not. 

“But how, Reggie, how? You haven’t aged at all.”

Regulus stared at Narcissa, then looked at Sirius. Sirius gave his younger brother a pair of rather large grey eyes and looked at Draco. 

“I don’t know!” Draco shouted, throwing his arms up in the air. “I don’t know everything!”

“Why would Draco know?” Narcissa asked, baffled. 

“Oh, uh, he wouldn’t. Dumbledore showed up last night, had Kreacher show me to Regulus room where Regulus was kind of frozen on the bed,” Sirius said quickly. “Uh, he, uh…was saved.”

“Pardon?”

“Kreacher saved me, brought me to Dumbledore who said I was something called time locked,” Regulus offered quickly, stepping down a few stairs before deciding to remain on the stairs instead of coming the rest of the way down. “I do not know what it means, but it seems like just yesterday…the house looked a lot darker.”

Regulus looked around, taking in the redecorated foyer. The portraits were whispering amongst themselves at the sight of the long dead youngest Black. Regulus’ clenched the railing, his knuckles turning white. 

“Time locked?” Narcissa asked. “What on earth is that?”

“He was frozen in a moment till the spell unlocked,” Sirius explained. “The person who put it on him froze him for fifteen years to wake up—” 

“On the night he vanished,” Narcissa finished, clutching the glass of water to her chest. “Oh. It was the Black girl. The orphan. She was a Spellsmith.”

Regulus’ face clouded, but he nodded. He glanced at his brother for a moment then looked away. His hand clenched around the railing further and he stood rigidly while Narcissa gazed at him with wide eyes. Draco was amazed the railing didn’t splinter under Regulus’ hand. 

“I’m Harry,” Harry loudly announced, sticking out his hand as he walked up the stairs till he was on the step below Regulus. “I’m glad you’re not dead.”

Regulus startled, but shook Harry’s hand, which forced him to let go of the railing. 

“I’m sure since you’ve not eaten since 1979, you’d like some food. Dobby made an excellent breakfast.”

Harry towed Regulus back up the stairs to the first floor where the dining room was located, filling Regulus in on random things Harry clearly thought Regulus needed to know. Harry’s voice grew faint till they could no longer hear it. 

“Sirius, explain,” Narcissa demanded. 

“We did. Addy locked Reggie in a moment because she couldn’t stop him from doing what he’d done in the first place, which involved a cave and some sort of poison. He drank poison, Cissy and Addy couldn’t do anything other than lock him in time till Dumbledore came up with a cure. I guess she knew it’d take him awhile, so locked him for fifteen years. Dumbledore showed up last night with the cure, gave it Reggie and now he’s fine. Er…I think that’s it. He’s not dead! Yay?”

Narcissa gracefully stood up, still clutching the glass of water to her chest. “Why? Why did she do that?”

“I don’t know. She loved him,” Sirius said.

“Is she alive?”

“She’s still dead as far as I know. Dumbledore thinks she’s dead, Gringotts thought she was dead and released her wills, Tom thinks she dead…”

“Who is Tom?”

“Her friend.”

“And his opinion matters over yours because?”

“Because he also goes by TR DeVinette?”

“Oh,” Narcissa breathed. “I wasn’t aware you knew him.”

“Kinda. He doesn’t like me much,” Sirius admitted, running a hand through his hair. He laughed nervously. “Look, I don’t know why Addy did whatever she did, but Regulus is alive. He’s not in danger and he’s fine. He looks great, doesn’t he?”

Narcissa turned away and looked up to where the dining room was located.

“He looks tired, worn out and sad,” Narcissa said quietly. “He really loved her, didn’t he?”

Draco felt very uncomfortable. He shuffled his feet.

“Yeah,” Sirius said. 

Narcissa looked at her cousin and nodded, her expression shifting. 

“We’ll help him adjust,” she said firmly. “What are we going to tell people? We cannot tell them he was time locked.”

Sirius shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“He’s still only eighteen?” Narcissa inquired. Sirius nodded. “He doesn’t look it.”  

“He doesn’t look fifteen either,” Sirius pointed out, clearly following her train of thought. “And—”

“No, he doesn’t. I wasn’t suggesting that at all. Your Uncle Alphard remained unmarried but was a well known…bachelor.”

Sirius frowned, opened and closed his mouth a few times then said, “Oh. But, if…why’d he’d…”

“He hadn’t been disowned. He left the money to you because you’re legally a Black.”

Sirius sighed, raking his hand through his hair. 

Draco quietly crept up the stairs, leaving his mother and Sirius to figure out the details of bringing Regulus Black back from the dead. 

* * *

 They managed to get to the platform in a timely manner even with the excitement of dead people returning to life. Sirius cast charms on all of them and their belongings to prevent them from getting soaked in the pouring rain, so they remained dry while standing on platform nine and three quarters. Narcissa had calmed down quite a bit since Regulus had first appeared that morning, but she was mildly tense as they stood on the platform in the throng of students and parents all sloshing around the overly wet platform. 

“Remember to write,” Narcissa said, looking at both Draco and Harry with a firm expression. “Who knows what’ll happen to you this year.”

Harry gave an uncomfortable chuckle. “You know Aunt Narcissa, I don’t go looking for trouble. It just finds me.”

“I know, dear,” she said, flattening his hair in the back where it was standing on end. 

“Well, a little trouble never hurt anyone,” Sirius proclaimed. “You might want to get on the train. We’ll let you know, uh, what’s going on. The four-one-one.”

“The what?” Harry and Draco both asked.

“Oh, you don’t use that?” Sirius asked, looking at the pair. 

“No.”

Sirius shrugged, rolling his eyes. “Okay, well, now you can! Well, off you go. Dobby put your things on the train and you’ve got your robes, correct?”

“Yes,” the boys both answered. 

After another round of hugs and kisses from Narcissa, Harry and Draco climbed onto the train and hurried to find a compartment. They found their seats as the pistons hissed loudly and the train began to move. 

The boys had settled in when the door flew open and Hermione appeared. Her hair was huge and dripping wet. She looked a little grumpy as she sat down and wrung her hair out. 

“How are you two dry?”

“Magic,” Draco drawled, wiggling her fingers.

Hermione tutted. 

“Well, I know for a fact that several parents have told their children what is going on this year. Mostly Slytherins,” Hermione reported, wringing her hair out. There was a large puddle on the compartment floor. Draco was amazed all that water had been in Hermione’s hair. How on Earth did she remain upright? “Just from overhearing conversations on the train, well, a few Ravenclaws seem to know, mostly the seventh years. You know, the ones allowed to compete. So, where are we on that?”

Draco and Harry stared at their friend for a beat before they both told her they were nowhere. 

“We have till Halloween to figure out if Moody is really him or not. I mean, did he get attack this morning? I think in the last timeline he did something that made him late to the feast,” Draco remembered. “I don’t recall what it was, but he is paranoid and had bins that attacked people.”

Hermione frowned, but reached into her bag and pulled out the paper. 

“It won’t be in there,” Draco sighed. “I don’t remember how I heard. Father more than likely.” 

“Well, do we even know who our teacher will be this year? It’s hard to tell from the school list and you couldn’t remember if the book was familiar or not,” Hermione pointed out, vanishing behind the paper. 

The compartment door slid open and a very dry Atlanta appeared with a damp Ginny on her heels. 

“Good morning,” Atlanta greeted. “Harry, I found this.”

She extended out Tom’s cube, a glint and tilt in her smile that told Draco she was up to something.

“Oh,” Harry said, standing and taking the cube from her. “Thanks. Sorry.”

“What is that, Harry?” Ginny asked, peering at the seemingly wood block in Harry’s palm.

“It’s just, er, a wood block. Goes with a set. I must have left it at, er, your place.”

“Yes. I found it under the piano,” Atlanta said smoothly. “Come along, Ginny. I’d like to catch up with Luna. I’ve not heard from her all summer. I’m sure she had more fun than either of us while in Norway with her father.”

“Bye,” Ginny said, waving as Atlanta exited.

The compartment door slammed shut. Hermione folded her paper and drew the blinds on the compartment and slid the lock shut on the door. She sat down next to Draco and nodded at Harry, who looked utterly baffled.

“I don’t know why she gave him to me,” he muttered, looking at the cube. He scrunched up his mouth, set the cube down on the seat next to him, and knocked on it. “Tom? You can come out.”

The moment Harry’s knuckles hit the block, the cube began to glow with misty silver and grey magic. Tom’s form appeared sitting on the seat next to Harry a moment later. He looked around, his eyes slightly larger than normal. 

“It hasn’t changed a bit,” Tom muttered. 

“It looks as it did when you were a student?” Hermione asked, sounding surprised.

Tom nodded. 

“Addy never road the train?” Draco asked. 

“No. Regulus would have been unable to sit with her, so she simply Apparated to Hogsmeade.”

“Speaking of Regulus,” Draco started, making Tom snap his attention to Draco. 

“Why are we speaking of Regulus?” Hermione asked, looking between Harry and Draco. “What happened?”

“Regulus isn’t dead,” Harry said. 

“She did it?” Tom whispered, his eyes somehow going even wider.

Harry nodded.

“She told me in her letter,” Draco said, fishing it out of his bag. “I didn’t know whom she spoke of till this morning, though.”

He unfolded the letter from Addy he had received first year. It was becoming rather worn from all the times Draco had read it over the years. He flattened it out and read the bullet point about saving someone who should have died.  

Tom nodded. “She always said she was going to save Regulus. In her final days…I knew she had a plan, but she was quite secretive. Refused to tell Sirius and I what she planned. Then she vanished one evening and never returned. Where has Regulus been all these years?”

“Would you believe in his bedroom of all places?” Draco asked. 

Hermione looked like someone had told her the world was flat.

“Kreacher put him there for safe keeping,” Harry offered. “Regulus’ a nice guy. A little quiet, but then…his friend is dead, his parents are dead and he woke up fifteen years late. That’d freak out anyone.” 

Everyone nodded. 

“Atlanta didn’t give me so you could tell me Regulus was still alive,” Tom said quietly. “I believe she isn’t aware of this information.” 

“No. Why did she give you to me?”

Tom stared at Harry, but said nothing. 

The door suddenly rattled. Muffled voices sounded outside the door. Tom dove into his cube, vanishing from sight. Harry quickly pocketed the cube as the door burst open to reveal Nott and his cronies.

“Oh, joy. And here I thought we’d be saved from your ugly faces,” Draco drawled, throwing his arms up in mock defeat. “Our planned has been foiled. We must enjoy their repugnant appearances.”

“Shut it, Malfoy,” Nott spat.

“I noticed your father failed to get you seats in the Top Box,” Draco went on, pressing buttons he knew he ought to leave alone.

Nott’s mouth set in a tight line. 

“Oh, wait, is it because your father’s not as powerful since the whole failed murder of a hippogriff due to your idiocy?”

“Draco,” Hermione scolded quietly. 

“What are you doing in here?” Nott demanded as if Draco hadn’t said anything. “I’ve let the prefects know you’ve been up to—”

“What is going on here?” a prefect asked, appearing. “They don’t look like they are producing anything illegal.”

The girl narrowed her eyes and began to yell at Nott for wasting her time. The door slid shut and Draco allowed a smirk to spread across his face.  

“That is one good thing,” Draco said, putting his hands behind his head and stretching out. “Since Father is back, Mr Nott has lost any clout he had within the Ministry. Father does not enjoy people stepping into his well bought territory.”

“Is that why he gave all that gold to the hospital?” Harry inquired. 

Draco nodded. “Likely. Gave him back the ear of the Minister. Not sure where he got the gold, as I thought Grandfather had him on a tight leash since the diary incident.”

Hermione frowned, opening _The Standard book of Spells, Grade 4._ Harry and Draco, leaving the curtains open, began to discuss Quidditch, occasionally being visited by their fellow Gryffindors, several whom had been at the World Cup and were anxious to relive their experiences.  


	8. Will The Real Moody Please Stand Up?

**Disclaimer: If you know it, it is likely from _Goblet of Fire_ and I fail to own that. **

* * *

The spells placed upon Harry and Draco to keep them dry had worn off by the time the train reached Hogwarts, thus Harry and Draco were as wet as everyone else by the time they stumbled into the Great Hall and into their seats for the feast. Of course, they wouldn’t be as wet if Peeves hadn’t been hanging out in the Entrance Hall throwing water balloons at everyone.

“I know a drying charm,” Draco offered Harry as they sat dripping on the bench. 

Harry nodded, so Draco cast it silently as the rest of the school filed in wet and grumpy. Harry let out a sigh of relief as he was warmed up, though he shouldn’t have counted his Gallons yet, as Nearly Headless Nick drifted through him, freezing Harry to the bone again.

“Oh, sorry. Good evening,” Nick said, beaming down at Harry and Draco.

Harry shuddered. “Says who? Hope they hurry up with the Storting. I’m starved. And cold.”

Nick pouted, turned and did a good impression of stalking off in a huff. 

“I assume it’ll take just as long as it has in the past,” Draco murmured, watching several students empty water out of their shoes. “It might be awhile, due to the rain preventing a speedy trip across the lake for the first years.” 

“Hiya, Harry!”

Draco froze, turning to find a small third year standing behind him holding a huge camera. His full attention was on Harry and by the look on his face, the kid thought Harry hung the moon.

“Hi, Colin,” Harry said, sounding even more tired.  

“Creevey?” Draco asked, vaguely remembering the kid from second year. 

“Harry, guess what? Guess what, Harry? My brother’s starting! My brother Dennis!”

Harry stared at Creevey, who completely ignored Draco. Creevey only had eyes for Harry Potter.  

“Er—good.”

“He’s really excited!” Creevey exclaimed, bouncing up and down on his heels. “I do hope he’s in Gryffindor! Keep your fingers crossed, eh, Harry?”

“Er— yeah, alright,” Harry said, crossing his own fingers.

Creevey bounced off to join his friends further down the table. 

“Is it bad I kind of forgot about him?” Harry asked. 

“No. I forgot as well. I’ve been reminded. I won’t forget him in the future.”

Harry sighed, stuffing his hand into his pocket. “What should I do with Tom?”

“Give him to Atlanta?”

Harry didn’t appear to want to do that. He took his hand out of his pocket and began to jiggle his legs in his impatience for the Welcoming Feast to begin. 

Neville sat down across from them, followed by Thomas and Finnigan. Draco scanned the Head Table and noticed there wasn’t an empty chair besides the one McGonagall usually filled. Draco grabbed Harry sleeve and tugged hard. 

“What?”

“Moody’s here.”

Harry sat up straighter. “I’ve got it on me.”

“I doubt you can check it right now. Someone’ll notice,” Draco whispered, as the doors banged opened and McGonagall led the first years into the hall. They all looked like drowned animals, especially a very tiny boy who was wrapped up in something that looked vastly too large for him. His tiny face stuck out of the black thing and he looked a little too excited compared to the other first years. His eyes were scanning for someone. He found whoever he was looking for and mouthed, I FELL IN THE LAKE! 

He looked utterly delighted.

Harry and Draco exchanged looks as the Hat began to sing its song, neither doubting the tiny boy was the Denis Colin Creevey had spoken about earlier. 

_A thousand years or so, when I was newly made_

_There lived four wizards who failed to give me a name._

_So, I gave myself a designation that will bring me fame._

_Call me Sherlock._

_Do not call me Hat, Sorting Hat, or anything else that’s not my epithet_

_So, let me hear all the bold Gryffindors, fair Ravenclaws, sweet Hufflepuffs and shrewd Slytherins sing out_

_Call me Sherlock!_

_Do not forget my name when you put me on your head_

_I will sort you out to where you will find your bed_

_Be it in brave Gryffindor under the red lion_

_Or be an eagle and fly away to Ravenclaw to be a clever lemon_

_Hufflepuffs is not the worst place to be, as they are hard workers and worthy_

_Slytherins enjoy green and tend to enjoy power a little to much, savvy?_

_So, put me on and I’ll pick your brains apart_

_Stick you someplace so you can find your start._

_Begin clapping, as I have reached the end, Bart._

Everyone stared at the Hat—Sherlock. Dumbledore put his face in his hand and shook his head. He was either trying hard not to laugh, or groaning at the— Sherlock’s behavior. 

Slowly, applause rang out and McGonagall began to unroll her parchment. She began to call out names and the Sorting began. The first years all appeared a little uneasy about putting Sherlock on their heads, but the hat fell over their eyes as it had since the school’s founding when the Founders made the thing and didn’t bother to give it a name.

This was clearly a touchy subject for Sherlock the Sorting Hat. 

Harry carefully pulled the map out of this pocket as Creevey Number One began to cheer a little too loudly and the boy wrapped up in the black thing stumbled over to the table shouting about how he fell into the lake. The boys distracted everyone else from what Harry was doing till Creevey Number One began shouting, “Dennis! Dennis, see that boy there? The one staring in his lap? The one with the black hair! Know who he is, Dennis?”

Harry shoved the map at Draco and looked up, plastering a pleasant smile on his face. 

Draco poked the map with his wand, muttering the password under the noise from the cheers of the Ravenclaw table as they gained Emma Dobbs. He folded and refolded the map till he found the Great Hall. He zeroed in on the head table and scanned the names. 

Everyone was as they ought to be. 

Moody’s dot claimed he was Alistair Moody and no one else. Draco began to check everyone else, but he didn’t exactly know everyone’s actual name, so he gave up after he went through the teachers— who were all who they claimed to be. He cleared the map and shoved it into his own pocket as “Witby, Kevin” became a Hufflepuff. 

Professor Dumbledore stood up and said, “I have only two words for you at this moment. Tuck in.”

And he sat down. 

“Well?” Harry asked.

Draco hoped his facial expression told Harry what he wanted to know. 

* * *

By the time the pudding vanished off the plates, leaving being shiny, golden plates, Draco was anxious to get to his room. Harry was fidgeting worse than normal and almost stabbed Draco with his fork several times throughout the meal— for some reason missing his plate by a couple miles in his distraction. Dumbledore rose to his feet and the buzz of chatter died down. The only noise within the Great Hall was the howling wing and pounding rain outside. 

“So, now that we are all fed and watered, I must once more ask for your attention. I have a few notices.”

Next to Draco, Harry tensed up. Draco put a hand on his arm, giving him a warning look. 

“Mr Filch, the caretaker, has asked me to tell you that the list of objects forbidden inside the castle has this year been extended to include Screaming Yo-yos, Fanged Frisbees, and Ever-Banshing Boomerangs. The full list comprises some four hundred and thirty-seven items and can be viewed in Mr Filches office, if anyone cares to check.”

The corners of Dumbledore’s mouth quirked upwards a bit.

“As ever, I would like to remind you all the forest is out of bounds to students, as is the village of Hogsmede to anyone below third year.

“It is also my painful duty to inform you that the Inter-House Quidditch Cup will not take place this year.”

There were a few people who gasped at the news. The Weasley twins were mouthing soundlessly at Dumbledore, much too appalled to speak. Ginny quirked an eyebrow and glanced at Atlanta, who sat rather expressionless next to her. 

“This is due to an event that will be starting in October, and continuing throughout the school year, taking up much of the teachers’ time and energy— but I am sure you will all enjoy it immensely. I have the great pleasure in announcing this year Hogwarts will be hosting the Triwizard Tournament.” 

Harry tensed up further and ceased figiting. It was as if Dumbledore’s announcement made it real to him.  

“You’re JOKING!” shouted one of the twins loudly.

Dumbledore chuckled. “I am not joking, Mr Weasley, though now that you mention it, I did hear an excellent one over the summer about a troll, a hag, and a leprechaun who all go into a bar…” 

McGonagall cleared her through loudly. 

“Er— yes, sorry. Where was I? Ah, yes, the Triwizard Tournament. Well, some of you will not know what this tournament involves, so I hope those who do know will forgive me for giving a short explanation, and allow their attention to wander freely.”

Harry turned to Draco, a look of apprehension on his face. Draco stared right back at Harry. Harry’s hand was once again in his pocket, likely clutching Tom’s cube. 

“I’m having trouble pretending to be excited,” Harry whispered as Dumbledore explained the tournament that took place between the largest three European wizarding schools had met it’s end due to deaths. Everyone around them was beginning to get excited— even the Muggleborns who’d likely never heard of it. 

“I know,” Draco whispered back. “Try to look confused, but inquisitive and after Dumbledore’s done talking look excited. Be an actor.”

“I am not an actor,” Harry hissed, but sat up to pretend to be confused yet curious as Draco had instructed.

Harry looked like he was going to throw up. 

Draco sighed and turned his attention back to Dumbledore. He knew Harry was upset that they were flying blind now that Moody was really Moody. 

“Eager though I know all of you will be to bring the Triwizard Cup to Hogwarts, the Heads of the participating schools, along with the Ministry of Magic, have agreed to impose an age restriction on contenders this year. Only students who are of age— that is to say seventeen or older— will be allowed to put their names forward. This is a measure we feel is necessary,” Dumbledore assured while several students within the crowd disagreed. The twins looked furious. “The tasks will be difficult and dangerous, whatever precautions we take, and it highly unlikely a student below sixth or seventh year will be able to cope with them. I will personally be assuring no one underage is able to hoodwink our impartial judge into making them Hogwarts champion,” Dumbledore assured the students. “I therefore beg you to not waste your time submitting yourself if you are under seventeen.”

Dumbledore went onto explain when the other schools would be arriving and they’d be staying for the school year. After he was through he added, “I have one new teacher to introduce. Professor Moody has agreed to come out of retirement and be your Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. He will be with us only this year. Professor Moody?”

The old man stood up, his fake, electric blue eye whirling around in every direction. He gruffly waved and sat back down. 

“Now, I believe it’s time for bed. Chop! Chop!” Dumbledore said, clapping his hands together. 

* * *

After Draco was sure the others were asleep, he opened his curtains and waited a moment  before he darted over to Harry’s bed and slipped in, drawing the curtains shut behind him. He turned to find Tom float-sitting on Harry’s pillow, tossing his block between his hands and a dark expression on his face as he stared at the spread out map that took up most of Harry’s bed. 

“So?”

“No one that shouldn’t be here is here,” Harry reported sadly. “I guess we’ll have till October to figure it out.”

Draco frowned, but nodded. 

“Are you sure you did not know who impersonated Moody?” Tom demanded, eyes narrowed.

“No. Father never let the name slip. He was always just ‘the Dark Lord’s most loyal servant.’ And this always sent my aunt into a rage, as she believes she is the most loyal servant.”

Tom hummed, looking back down at the map. “This is utterly fascinating no matter how many times you show it to me.”

“Didn’t you see it when…well, er, when my dad made it?” Harry asked. 

“Addy stole it a few times, but I never was allowed to really study it like this,” Tom admitted. He set the block down at his side and suddenly he was sitting on the pillow instead of floating on it. “Besides Dumbledore, who will have access to the Goblet of Fire that wishes Harry harm and supports Moldy Trousers?”

Draco mouthed _Moldy Trousers_ while giving a questioning look to Harry, who shrugged. 

“Well?” Tom pressed, looking up through the hair that was forever falling into his eyes. 

“The professors all do, any one over the age of seventeen…” Draco trailed off. “Quite a few people could.”

“No. You misunderstand. The Goblet is a powerful magical object. I read about it whilst I was at school. It will take a very powerful wizard to confuse it to make it think more than three schools are participating. It was created for this purpose and this purpose alone and never in its life has it been given more than three schools to choose from,” Tom explained, sounding somewhat patient for the first time ever. He glanced at Harry. “Whoever puts your name is knows quite a bit of magic.”

“Maybe we should bring Hermione—”

“We do not need to know what is used,” Tom quickly cut Harry off. “We need to know who knows, or would know, this kind of spell. The list is short. The only wizard I can think of off the top of my head who’d be able to trick the Goblet of Fire is Dumbledore.”

“Or Voldemort,” Draco quietly offered. “He did it before.”

“Did he?”

“His servant did it. Clearly, the guy was a good wizard and knew the right spell. Or, he could have brought the…thing Voldemort is at the moment here.”

“No. No, this is important and while Voldemort hates to delegate,” Tom’s mouth went tight for a moment, “he is in no condition to be able to perform this sort of spell himself. No, the wizard will need to be powerful and accomplished.”

“Narrows the list, then,” Draco relented, looking back at the map of Hogwarts spread before him. 

“We must keep an eye on this map,” Tom went on. “Whoever is plotting with Voldemort will likely be here in the coming months to check the place out, to figure the lay of the land. What are the names of the other two heads?”

“Karkaroff and Maxime,” Draco said. 

“First names, please.”

“Igor Karkoff and Olympe Maxime,” Draco reported. 

Tom nodded, folding his see-through arms across his chest. 

“Are you going to sit around and read the map all day?” Harry quietly asked. 

Tom looked at Harry, rolling his eyes deeply. “No, Potter. I’ll go back to Atlanta and use her eyes and ears to keep a look out. She’ll return the block when I wish to speak to you.”

Harry nodded.

“You gonna bunk here for the night?”

“If I must,” Tom sighed, giving Harry a strange look Draco didn’t understand. 

“I’m for bed,” Draco said, feeling uncomfortable. “Night.”

Draco slid out of Harry’s bed and hurried into his own. He pulled the covers up and held them under his chin, trying to figure out what had made him suddenly uncomfortable back there, as Tom and Harry weren’t doing anything strange. Harry had looked a little…no. 

Draco closed his eyes and willed himself to sleep. 


	9. Lessons of the Past

**Disclaimer: If you know it, it is likely from _Goblet of Fire_ and I fail to own that. **

* * *

“Weasley! Hey, Weasley!”

A hush fell as Nott elbowed his way towards Weasley and Zabini, who were waiting for the other two of their posse at the bottom of the main stairs. Nott was holding a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ and looking a bit too gleeful for Draco’s liking. Draco grabbed onto Harry’s and Hermione’s wrists, holding them back to see what Nott was up to.

“What?” Hermione asked. 

Nott arrogantly stood in front of Weasley and Zabini, waving the paper around. 

“Draco?” Harry inquired, looking worriedly at Draco. 

“Nothing happened with Mr Weasley because you weren’t in the wrong place at the wrong time and Moody is still Moody,” Draco hissed at the pair. “There shouldn’t be anything to mock Weasley with in the paper! What’s he doing?” 

Hermione sighed. “Did you read the paper today?”

Draco nodded. “Yes. There was noth— oh.”

“There’s a picture of your fool of a brother, Weasley!” Nott taunted, holding the paper out so Weasley could see the front page. 

Weasley was channeling a frozen tomato colored statue. He balled his fists and glared hard at Nott— who was having a little too much fun mocking Weasley because his brother was pictured besides Crouch in a story about the Triwizard Tournament. 

“Nott,” Zabini warned in a low voice that carried throughout the Entrance Hall. 

“What? Embarrassed by your friend’s loser brother?” Nott goaded, turning his attention to the dark boy. “He’s so excited to be under what’s his face?”

Zabini stood up straighter, towering over Nott. His face darkened, clearly taking what Nott said to mean not working under Crouch but something else entirely. 

“Come along, Weasley,” Zabini said in a voice that could freeze ice further. 

“What’s he on about?” Harry wanted to know, watching Zabini sweep out of the Entrance Hall, quickly followed by Weasley. Weasley shot a few glares over his shoulder at Nott, who smugly chuckled as he rolled the paper up. 

Draco towed Harry and Hermione towards the Great Hall. 

“There was a story about the Triwizard Tournament in the paper this morning and there was a picture of Crouch with Weasley was standing behind him. Looking a bit too excited to be there,” Draco explained.

“Why would that embarrass Ronald?”

Draco leveled Hermione a look. 

Hermione sighed. “Percy is a nice young man. He’s ambitious. There is nothing to be embarrassed about that. If anything, Ronald ought to understand.” 

Draco pulled the paper out of his bag and showed her the photo again, poking it with his finger. Hermione looked down and looked downtrodden. 

She sighed deeply. “Oh…I forgot about that.” 

Over Eager Weasley was hopping around behind Crouch who was giving a press conference about the Triwizard Tournament and completely ignorant of Weasley’s presence. The younger man had a stack of parchment and his face was shining with pride as he attempted to hand a roll of parchment from the pile to Crouch only to be ignored.

“What’s he trying to give Crouch?” Harry asked, peering at the photo.

Draco shrugged, folding the paper up and shoving it back into his bag. “Whatever it was, I doubt this will do great things for his career.” 

* * *

Draco was twitchy in the days leading up to their first Defense Against the Dark Arts class. He knew Time had a cruel sense of humor and if memory served Draco correctly, the first lesson Moody would give would likely cause Draco to go to bits as badly as he’d gone at the World Cup after the riot. 

Also, with his luck, Moody would turn him into a ferret again. 

“I’m sorry about melting that cauldron,” Neville apologized after their potion lesson on the day of the first DADA lesson. Draco had twitched so badly after Neville’s squeak of shock, he’d elbowed the kid in the head as the cauldron melted all over their table. Neville seemed to think this meant Draco was angry at him for making whatever mistake he’d made in the first place. 

“It’s not your fault. I didn’t mean to elbow you,” Draco assured. Neville leveled Draco a look. “I’m…I’m…I’m fine. Fine. I’m fine. Fine.”

Behind them, Harry snorted. 

After lunch, it was time for their first DADA class. Everyone was rather excited, as so far everyone had been saying rather amazing things about the new professor. The twins had nothing to say after their first class with the man other than, “Wow.” Even Hermione had been rendered rather speechless, though Draco felt that might have been from her understanding of Draco’s behavior as of late. 

The impostor Moody had been an excellent professor— knowledge and fright in perfect balance. Draco was loathe to admit, after Lupin, Impostor Moody was the best professor they’d been stuck with. (He was sure Snape had been excellent, but Draco had other things on his mind other than his classes sixth year.) Due to the fact the first lesson had clearly not changed, the impostor had done his homework while impersonating Moody the first time around. 

Having come to this conclusion, Draco was only more than a little on edge. Impostor Moody did not like Draco at all— and no one had been bothered. It had made sense. Moody was an Auror and hated when Death Eaters got away. 

Lucius Malfoy had gotten away due to deep pockets. He was guilty of crimes and running around free. 

Moody, the real one, was going to hate Draco as much as Fake Moody had in the past and that was something Draco really could do without. 

“Draco, are you sure you’re okay?” Neville asked, eyeing Draco with concern as he took the seat in front of Draco in DADA that afternoon. “You look pale.”

“I am always pale. It’s my state of being,” Draco announced, trying to inject his usual sarcastic drawl into the statement. 

Harry snorted. “Yes, we know you enjoy channeling a vampire.”

Draco quirked an eyebrow, attempting to calm himself down. Draco and Harry exchanged a few more barbs before Moody clunked into the room from the back and slowly ambled up to main aisle of the classroom. He reached the front and turned to study the gathered students. His real eye slowly trailed across the room while his magical blue eye swirled around and made Draco feel a bit sea sick. 

“You can put those away,” he growled, looking down at their desktops where each student had gotten out the assigned textbook. Well, other than Draco. He hadn’t removed anything from his bag. “You won’t be needing those books today.”

The class looked quite excited. The last time they’d begun a class by putting away their books, they’d had had a hands on lesson with a boggart. 

Moody took out a register, shook his long grey hair out of his twisted and scarred face. He began to call out names, his normal eyes moving steadily down the list while the magical one fixated on each student. 

“Malfoy?” the man growled. Suddenly both eyes were on Draco instead of just the creepy eye. 

Draco squirmed.

“You’re in Gryffindor?”

The classroom startled, having gotten used over the past four years to the fact Draco was in their house. It hadn’t been pointed out much since first year when it’d been shocking and new. 

“Yes, sir.”

“Good,” was the response and Moody carried on till he’d gotten through everyone. “Right then. I’ve had a letter from Professor Lupin about this class. Seems you’ve had a thorough grounding in tackling Dark creatures. You got all the major ones— boggarts, Red Caps, hinkypunks, grindylows, Kappas, and werewolves, is that correct?”

The class agreed. 

“Good. You’re behind in dealing with curses. That’s why I’m here, to bring you up to scratch. We’ll start now.”

He pulled out his wand and clunked around the desk. He leaned against the front of the desk and folded his arms across his chest.

“Curses come in many strengths and forms. Now, according to the Ministry of Magic, I’m supposed to teach you counter courses and leave it at that,” Moody announced, snorting. “I’m not supposed to show you what illegal Dark curses look like until you’re in the sixth year.”

His magical eyes roved around the room while his normal one slowly took in the eager faces of his students. The magical eye landed on Draco, who shifted uneasily.

“But, Professor Dumbledore’s got a higher opinion of your nerves. I’d say the sooner you know what you’re up against the better. How are you supposed to defend yourself if you’ve never seen it? If a wizard’s about to put an illegal curse on you, he’s not going to tell you he’s about to do it. You’re going to need to recognize the wand movements, the beginning of the formation of the spell on his lips if he choses to speak. No Dark wizard is gong to be polite to your face when you’re in a fight and tell you what he’s about to curse you with before he does it.”

Moody gazed around the room, letting what he’d just said sink in. 

“Miss Brown, you need to put that away while I’m talking.”

Brown jumped and blushed when everyone turned to stare at her. She hid whatever she’d been showing Patel under the desk.

“I can still see it. Magical eye.”

Brown put whatever it was away, bright pink.

“Do any of you know which curses are the most heavily punished by Wizarding law?”

Several hands rose into the air. Shockingly, Neville was one of them. 

“Malfoy!” Moody barked, making Draco jump in his seat.

He had not put his hand in the air. 

“Tell me one. I’m sure you know one at least.”

Moody lifted his chin, fixing his normal eye on Draco while the other one stayed on Brown. 

“Er…uh, there’s, er, the Imperius Curse,” Draco offered, not meeting Moody’s gaze. He felt like he was walking through a minefield and at any moment he’d wind up blown up (or a ferret).  

“Ah, yes, you would know that one,” Moody said. “Your father was under it, wasn’t he?”

Draco hardened his face and squarely met Moody’s eye.

“I wouldn’t assume to know,” Draco replied, his earlier misgivings suddenly vanishing.

He could show Moody he wasn’t his father’s clone. The first time around he’d been a prat about everything and took pride in his father’s line of thinking.

That Draco wasn’t the Draco seated in this classroom and he could show Moody this fact.

“Did anyone happen to tell you what the Imperius Curse does, Malfoy?”

Draco swallowed. “Yes, sir.” 

Moody grunted and grabbed a jar of spiders off his desk, setting it down on the desk at the very front of the room containing Seamus Finnigan. He reached in and pulled one out. Calmly, he poked the spider and said, “ _Imperio_!”

The spider jumped from Moody’s hand on a fine thread of silk and began to swing back and forth as if on a swing. It did back flips till the string broke and landed on the desk, where it began to do cartwheels. Moody jerked his wand and the spider rose into the air. It landed on another desk and began to tap dance. 

Everyone was laughing— except for Moody and Draco.

The magical eye was still upon Draco. 

“Malfoy, don’t find this funny?”

The class fell silent, looking curious and a little confused on why the professor was picking on Draco. 

Draco calmly (well, as calmly as he could) met Moody’s normal eye and said, “No, sir. You’re making the spider to those things. The spider isn’t doing them itself. It lacks free will. The spells takes away ones free will and forces the person under it to do another’s bidding.”

Moody looked mildly impressed for a split second.

“He’s right. Total control. I could make the spider jump out the window, drown itself, throw itself down one of your throats…”

Harry frowned, glancing at Draco out of the corner of his eye. 

“Back in the day, there were lots of witches and wizards being controlled by the curse,” Moody went on, the spider still tap dancing in front of Thomas. “Some job for the Ministry to sort out who was being forced to act and who was acting on their own free will. No way to tell if someone’s been cursed.”

Several people peeked at Draco— some looking curious, some with knowing looks.

“However,” Moody said a little louder, “the Imperius Curse can be fought. I’ll teach you how, but be warned— it takes real strength of character and not everyone’s got it. Best way to avoid it? Don’t get hit. CONSTANT VIGILANCE!”

Everyone jerked at his bark. Moody picked up the tap dancing spider and threw it back into the jar. 

“Anyone else know one? Another illegal curse?”

Once again, Neville’s hand rose into the air. He was wearing a fierce expression on his face.

“Longbottom, is it?”

Neville nodded, his hand lowering. 

“Yes?”

“The Cruciatus Curse,” Neville said in a voice that quivered a little. 

Draco shuddered. 

Harry put his hand on Draco’s arm, giving his a worried look. 

When Draco looked at Moody again, he was staring at Draco with a curious expression on his face, but said nothing. Instead, he took another spider out of the jar and set it on Finnigan’s desk. 

“ _Crucio_!”

Draco looked away quickly, not wishing to see what the spider was going through. Harry’s grip on Draco’s arm increased till Harry suddenly shouted, “Stop!”

Everyone turned to look at Harry, who was gripping an extremely pale Draco while looking at Neville, who was clutching the edge of his desk to the point his knuckles were white.  

Moody raised his wand and the spider slumped. He picked the spider up and threw him back into the jar. 

“Pain. That is all you need to know about that one,” Moody gruffly said. “Don’t need thumbscrews, knives or whatever those Muggles use these days to torture someone if you are able to perform the Cruciatus Curse. It’s…popular among Dark wizards.”

“You have to mean it,” Draco said, realizing Moody, just like Imposter Moody, was leaving out an important bit. He raised his eyes and locked them on Moody. “In order for it to work properly, you have to want to cause pain, you have to _mean_ it.” 

“Malfoy is correct. To make any of the Unforgivables work, you have to mean it,” Moody agreed, looking at Draco again with that curious expression. 

Draco realized he’d let on to much and tensed up. Harry’s grip on his arm increased again till his blunt nails were almost digging into Draco’s skin uncomfortably. 

“I don’t like spiders,” Moody proclaimed, then turned away from Draco. “What’s the last one?”  

His eyes swept the room, but no one was willing to answer. 

“ _Avada Kedavra_ ,” Draco finally said, trying to pull Harry’s hand off his arm. “The Killing Curse.”

Moody extended his head towards Draco, till he turned his attention to Potter. 

“The last and worst. There is no way to block any of these curses, but only one will kill you on the spot,” Moody explained. “And like Malfoy mentioned, you have to mean it— you have to want the person dead for the Killing Curse to work. Any of you could cast it right at this moment and it wouldn’t do much other than maybe knock someone unconscious, if you were feeling really hateful towards the person.”

Everyone stared at Harry. 

“And yes, there is only one person who survived it,” Moody allowed. 

He reached into the jar, pulled out the last spider and set it on his own desk this time instead of Finnigan’s. He took a deep breath. 

“ _Avada Kedavra!”_

There was a blinding flash of green light and a rushing sound, as though a vast, invisible something was soaring through the air. The spider jerked, rolled over onto its back and appeared dead. Harry dug his nails into Draco to the point, Draco had to bite his tongue not to cry out in pain. 

“Wait for it,” Moody said, while the girls in the room all looked varying degrees of horrified. 

The spider began twitching.

“And that is why you’ve got to mean it. I might not like spiders, but I didn’t want it dead,” Moody said, sweeping the still alive spider into the jar with the other two. “You can bet if you meet a Dark wizard and they cast any of these spells, they’ll mean it. Especially the last one. Quickest way to deal with their enemy. So, the best way to block it?”

“Hide,” Draco announced without thinking.

“Correct. Realize they are casting it. It’s the only spell that will show up green if you fail to catch the wand movement. The spell must hit your person for it to work,” Moody went on, his magical eye landing on Harry’s forehead. 

Harry flattened his bangs. 

“Get out your quills and parchment. Copy this down,” Moody gruffly said, flinging his wand at the blackboard. 

Notes appeared on the Unforgivable Curses. The only noise filling the classroom till the bell rang was the scratching of quills on paper. When the bell rang, Draco slowly put his things away, not really paying attention to what was going on around him. 

“You three alright?” a gruff voice asked.

Draco startled, knocking over his ink well. Harry caught it before it could spill all over the floor thanks to his quick reflexes.

“I’m fine,” Harry quickly said. 

“It was a very interesting dinner, I mean, uh, lesson, sir,” Neville stuttered, still rather pale and not turning pink at his word stumble. 

“I’ll be fine,” Draco said, taking his ink well from Harry, closing it, and shoving it into his bag. 

Moody stared at Draco.

“I’m sure you will,” Moody said measuredly. “Dumbledore says you’re an old soul, but I think it’s something else all together. You’ve lived. Longbottom, I think you need some tea. You like plants? I’ve got this plant I brought from home that doesn’t seem to like it here. Come with me.” 

Moody took Neville by the shoulder and steered him out of the classroom, leaving Harry and Draco alone. 

“Draco?”

“I’m fine.”

“Yeah, and I’m the pope,” Harry quipped, folding his arms across his chest. “That was some lesson, though. It was…kind of…”

“Harsh?” Draco asked, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “Yeah, it was, but it’s better we know than don’t know what’s out there. Next year will be the hide your head year. This year will be filled with good information. You best pay attention.” 

Harry frowned. “So even though he’s the real thing…”

“The Impostor was a good impostor,” Draco whispered, clutching the strap of his bag. 

“Same lesson?”

“Almost to a tee,” Draco admitted. 

“It was bad, wasn’t it?”

“The lesson?”

Harry shook his head, his green eyes looking up at Draco filled with something Draco didn’t wish to name. “No, your life before you came here. I thought…I mean, Neville reacted badly, but you…you’ve been on edge for days. You knew this was coming.”

“He turned me into a ferret,” Draco suddenly shouted.

“What?” Harry asked, looking confused.

“Impostor Moody. He turned me into a ferret,” Draco proclaimed. “That’s why I’ve been twitchy. I hate ferrets.”

Draco turned around and stormed out of the classroom, feeling better for getting that off his chest and yet at the same time feeling like a moron. 

He hadn’t been twitchy because he hated ferrets. 

* * *

Neville didn’t return to the Tower until after dinner. He entered the Common Room holding a funny looking plant, which did in fact look to be on the brink of death. 

“What you got there, Nev?” Harry asked, pushing aside his parchment as Neville set the plant down on the table the boys seated at plowing through stacks of homework. 

“I don’t know,” Neville admitted, stroking one of the wilted leaves. “Moody found it in his yard and has been raising it since. He asked Professor Sprout for help and she actually suggested he ask me! Can you believe that?”

Neville looked thilled, his face shining with pride. 

“I’m going to figure out what it is and get it healthy again. Professor Moody said it was fine till he brought it here. He likes this plant, but it doesn’t seem to like Scotland.”

Neville picked the plant back up and hurried up to the dormitory. 

Harry looked at Draco who shrugged. “Remember, I don’t know what happened there. I wasn’t in your class.”

Harry sighed. He pulled his parchment back towards him and stared at it, while looking into his copy of _Unfogging the Future._ Harry went back to muttering under his breath about developing coughs from Mars, being in danger of burns from Jupiter and loosing treasure due to Mercury.

“Are you simply making up miserable predictions?” Draco inquired.

Harry looked up sheepishly and requested, “Don’t tell Hermione?”

Draco scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Of course not. Just don’t get too outlandish.”

“But that’s half the fun!” Harry exclaimed. 

Harry went back to his predictions on doom and gloom, while Draco went back doing his homework for Transfiguration. Draco worked steadily till he heard, “No— that sounds like we’re accusing him. Got to be careful…”

Draco picked his head up out of his book and gazed across the Common Room to where the twins were sitting in a closed off corner— quietly. 

A little too quietly. 

Draco leaned froward and studied them closer. They were both trying to compose something on a piece of parchment and quietly fighting about it. It was very un-twin like behavior. 

“Shoot! I already drowned,” Harry shouted, making everyone in the room stare at him. 

When Draco looked again, the twins were gone. 


	10. Plotting

**Disclaimer: If you know it, it is likely from _Goblet of Fire_ and I fail to own that. **

* * *

The next defense lesson, Moody announced he’d been given permission to put them under the Imperius Curse. Harry glanced at Draco with a look of question. Draco nodded— this had happened before. Harry squared his shoulders and waited his turn. 

Draco watched his classmates do impossible things. Dean Thomas hopped around the room singing the national anthem. Lavender Brown channeled a squirrel trying to hide her nut. Seamus Finnigan suddenly was able to sing opera. Neville performed a series of quite astonishing gymnastics tricks he would certainly not have been capable of in his normal state. 

After each Gryffindor failed to do whatever Moody was looking for (he never did explain it), he sighed deeply before removing the curse. 

“Potter, you’re next,” Moody growled.

Harry moved forward and took his spot in the front of the room. Moody raised his wand and cast the curse. There was a moment before Harry crashed randomly into a desk. Both Harry and the desk fell to the ground. 

“Now, that’s more like it!” Moody shouted.

Everyone exchanged bewildered looks as Harry sat up, looking a bit dazed. He slowly got to his feet, grimacing as he straightened out his knees.

“Look at that, you lot, Potter fought! And damn near beat it!” Moody shouted, clearly giddy. He clapped Harry on the shoulder (making the boy cringe in pain). “They’ll have trouble controlling you!”

* * *

Harry hobbled out of the classroom at the end of the hour, muttering about how Moody seemed to be under the impression they were about to be attacked tomorrow.

“He’s kind of right. Attack from Dark Wizards are in our future,” Draco reminded Harry as they walked. “And you did finally throw the curse off. None of us did it except you.”

Harry huffed. “Great. No controlling Harry Potter.”

“Well, you could not fight and just walk around like a Muggle zombie doing whatever,” Draco drawled.

Harry scowled.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” 

* * *

As the month of September melted into October, the fourth years were piled with homework and expectations on their performance increased. Hermione was in heaven, spending most of her free time in the library, happily doing her homework. Draco and Harry would often join her most evenings. 

“So, are we any closer to, well, you know?” Hermione whispered one evening in late October. “The notice for the arrival of the other two schools went up this morning, so shouldn’t we have a game plan?”

Draco looked up from his Potions homework and glanced at Harry, who paled a little. Draco glanced around the almost silent library before casting a few spells to prevent people from eavesdropping. Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out a wooden cube and set it on the table before rapping his knuckles on it. Tom appeared out of the cube and scowled.

“Why am I standing on a table?” he asked. 

Draco cast a Notice-Me-Not charm on the area they were seated and put his wand away. Hermione pulled out the scroll they kept with the Old Future as Tom stepped away from the cube till he floated down to the ground. 

“So, what is the plan? How are we going to stop Harry’s name from being entered?” Hermione asked in a normal voice. 

“I don’t think we can,” Draco admitted, watching as Harry pulled out the Marauder’s Map. 

“He’s right. Tom and I have been watching the map and no one’s appeared that ought not to be here. And Tom says he hasn’t seen anything fishy when he’s been with Atlanta. I mean, when the other schools get here, he can watch the map, but until then…”

“What are the tasks?” Tom asked, floating over to stand behind Hermione. She tapped the scroll and Draco and Hermione’s handwriting appeared out of nowhere on the long roll. 

“The first task was to get a golden egg from a dragon,” Draco said as Hermione searched for Year Four on the scroll. “But there’s no guarantee they’ll be the same again. They might be different.”

“Why would those change?” Tom demanded, looking up from scroll he was scanning over Hermione’s shoulder. “It seems the only things that change are things you have effected with simply being where you currently are. I doubt you have influenced the tasks set forth.”

Draco glared at Tom for a moment.

“Ah. Potter summoned his broom,” Hermione said, ignoring Tom and Draco. “Oh, that should be simple enough. Summoning charms are on the docket for Charms!”

“Where’d Potter summon his broom from?” Harry asked, looking at Draco. 

“I don’t know,” Draco admitted. “Potter just summoned it. You’re only allowed to bring your wand to the task, but there’s no rule that says you couldn’t summon something, so Potter called his broom, flew around and pretended the golden egg was a Snitch or something.” 

Harry nodded. “Sounds simple.”

“You forgot the dragon,” Tom drawled, eyeing Harry. 

“Oh, yeah.” Harry slumped in his seat, drawing circles on his homework blindly. “I wish my life was boring.”

Tom stared at Harry with a blank look on his face. He then turned back to Draco and Hermione and said, “We could still prevent someone from entering him.”

“How? We don’t know how it was done or by whom the first time,” Hermione reminded the Not Ghost thing, peering over her shoulder at him. “And none of us are magically powerful enough to hoodwink a magical artifact.”

“No. But, you are all solid. I am not,” Tom said, pointedly walking through the table to stand in front of Hermione and in the scroll they’d been reading. “At night, after curfew. It is likely whoever wishes to harm Harry will choose that moment to enter his name into the goblet.”

“And you’re going to stop him how? Scaring him to death with your appearance?”

Tom sneered at Draco over his shoulder. “No, Malfoy.”

“If you do that…we’ll know who is out to get Harry,” Hermione said. “But, Draco’s right, how will you stop him?”

“I will tell Dumbledore.”

Tom looked like he’s swallowed a lemon. 

“He doesn’t know about you,” Harry said, suddenly standing up. “You can’t…won’t he…No.”

Tom looked over at Harry, looking frustrated. “Harry, you don’t have to do this. You shouldn’t do this. If I tell Dumbledore the Goblet has been compromised—” 

“NO!” Draco said, grabbing Tom’s block and chucking it at his head. “First rule of time travel— don’t tell anyone!”

Tom rubbed his forehead where the block had hit him and scowled. “I’m not—” 

“Yes you are!” Draco shouted. “You’re from the 1940s. You are a time traveller. You skipped a great deal of time between when you were whatever and when you appeared wherever you did!”

Tom folded his long arms across his narrow chest and glared at Draco. It might have been a little scary if he hadn’t been standing in the table. 

“If Dumbledore finds out about you, he’ll find out everything else. Too many people know already! I’m here illegally! You were likely created with illegal Dark magic!” Draco shouted, clenching his fists as he glared at Tom. He let some of the tension in his body go and narrowed his eyes. “Oh, and won’t the Ministry just love to get its hands on you.”

Tom stopped scowling at Draco, looking alarmed.  

“Dumbledore wouldn’t—” Hermione started.

“He wouldn’t, but he might do something else,” Draco said flatly, meeting Tom’s eyes. The dark blue depths blazed for a moment before falling flat.

“He’s right. Best not tell anyone,” Tom said, sitting down in the chair next to Harry. 

“But, Dumbledore—” 

“Is the headmaster,” Draco finished, turning his attention to Harry. “And…too many people know about me being from the future. I’m sure Dumbledore suspects, but we can’t…we can’t tell him. And Tom…”

As much as Draco disliked Tom, something told him it was not the greatest idea to tell Dumbledore about the Not Ghost. Addy had liked Dumbledore and from what Draco knew she trusted him. She’d left Dumbledore in charge of her will over everyone else she knew, yet, she’d never told Dumbledore about Tom. 

“We won’t tell Dumbledore,” Tom agreed, moving out of the table to stand behind Hermione again. “But, I will watch the Goblet of Fire. I want to know who is out for Harry.”

“Once Harry’s entered, though, he will have to compete. I’ve done the research,” Hermione said, pulling out another roll of parchment. “It’s magically binding the moment you enter your name. If your name comes out you must compete or you die.”

“So, dramatic,” Tom sighed, rolling his eyes. Harry huffed in agreement. 

“But, since we know the tasks…we won’t be playing the game blind,” Hermione went on, her eyes lighting up. “The last task…that’s where things went wrong, right?”

Draco shrugged. “I do not know. It was kind of…stupid. It was a maze and we couldn’t actually see what was going on within. We were all simply sitting in the stands waiting for who ever to come out. Krum and the French girl were out, only Diggory and Potter were left. Then…Potter appeared clutching the Triwizard Cup and a dead body and all hell broke loose.”

“The person aiding Voldemort must have turned the Cup into a Portkey. We’ll have to watch who places the Triwizard Cup in the maze. That’s who turned it into a Portkey,” Tom said. 

“Or that was the way to show the winner,” Hermione pointed out. “Since they appeared back at the start of the maze, correct?”

Draco nodded. 

Hermione began to write. 

“Why am I always a pawn?” Harry asked suddenly. “Why is it always me?” 

“Because of some prophecy,” Draco muttered. 

“That’s correct,” Tom said, sounding frustrated. He raked a hand through his hair. It stood up at odd angles for a moment till falling back into place. “Addy knew there was one, but didn’t know what it was. I guess you are the same.”

Tom leveled Draco an odd look. 

“My father failed to get it, so Snake Face didn’t know what it said either,” Draco said, shuddering at the memory of Voldemort’s wrath after his father had failed. 

“Where is it?” Harry asked. 

“In the Ministry somewhere,” Draco said. “I don’t know much about prophecies.”

“Nor do I,” Tom ground out. 

Hermione frowned, but didn’t look up from her writing. “Okay, so we need to prevent Harry from…”

“Winning,” Harry and Draco said together. 

“No, we must prevent anyone from winning,” Tom pointed out. “If anyone touches the Triwizard cup, they’ll transport to Voldemort. No one can win.”

“Let’s worry about the other two tasks before worrying about that one. We’ve got till June to figure out how to prevent anyone from touching the Cup. So, how are we going to play the game?” Hermione asked, biting on the end of her quill. “Do we want Harry to win the tasks, so he’s first into the maze?”

“I don’t want to go into the maze,” Harry whined, putting his head on the table. 

“Yeah, you do. You’re the hero of this story, you like to save the world,” Draco drawled.

Harry glanced up, grinning. “Oh, how did I forgot?”

“You love it, shut up,” Tom snapped. He had a serious expression on his handsome face. Harry looked as if he was going to snark back, but Tom went on before Harry was able to speak. “Harry must get there before anyone else and get rid of the Cup. So, he must win the tasks. We are unable to predict what the others will do, but since Draco isn’t influencing them, they will likely behave as they did before. The first task…Harry can do as Potter did, but the second task, Potter acted like a twat.”

Harry scowled.

“No, Harry, he’s right. It was stupid of Potter to think the others were just going to die,” Hermione said, eyes moving down the parchment. “The egg was the clue, correct?”

Draco nodded. “Yes. We were told that something that was valued by the champions was under the lake and they had to save it. Potter was the last one back, outside the time limit, with two people: the Weasel and the French girl’s sister. She didn’t get to her…sister. She was…attacked or something. I don’t remember. Krum and Diggory returned with their person of value.”

Hermione’s cheeks were pink— knowing she’d been a thing of value to Krum. 

“Potter was also the first to reach the…people and stayed to make sure everyone was safe. Dumbledore awarded him for his idiocy, claiming it was…valor or something.”

“Awarded him for being the hero,” Tom muttered, then turned to Harry. “You must not do that this time. You reach your goal first, get it and come back.”

“But…those will have changed, right?” Harry asked. “I mean, Weasley and I aren’t bitter enemies, but we’re not friends. I don’t value him.”

“It’ll be me,” Draco said. “Or Tom’s block.”

Tom didn’t snark back as Draco expected. He simply went somewhat stiff. 

“They won’t know about that,” Hermione chided, paying no attention to Tom. “It might be someone else. Diggory’s girlfriend was his thing of value. Harry might find a girlfriend.”

Tom shot Hermione a murderous look. 

Harry looked baffled. “But….“

“We know,” Hermione and Draco said in unison. 

Harry turned red and snapped his mouth closed. Harry stared at Draco, who sighed. 

“She likes you. Just stop acting like an idiot every time you see her and she might go for you instead of Diggory.”

Harry scowl was only rivaled by the one Tom wore. 

“Okay. It’s settled. Tom will be on the lookout for anyone who doesn’t belong with the other schools and if that fails, he will haunt the Goblet of Fire once it’s active to see who enters Harry’s name. We cannot prevent Harry from being entered, but if we know who is out to get him, we try to stop him,” Hermione said. 

The boys nodded. 

“We should start working on summoning charms this weekend,” Hermione went on. “And try to get our hands on Gillyweed. It’s a controlled plant and difficult to come by. How’d Potter get it in the first place?”

Draco shrugged. “I don’t know.” 

Hermione sighed and rolled up her parchments. “I’m sure Professor Snape has some in his personal stores. It’s used in many potions. We could break in again.”

Tom’s ground his teeth together loud enough they all stared at him. 

“What?” he snapped. 

“Nothing,” Hermione said, stuffing the scroll into her bag. “We’ll meet later. The Room of Requirement should work.”

“The room of junk,” Tom blurted out. They all stared at him. “Hidden things. Or whatever it is. It’s filled with things and goes on for miles. Just ask for someplace to hide. It’ll have to be a powerful summons to get your broom to you in the stadium and that room is massive.”

Harry nodded, gulping. “Isn’t this cheating, though?”

Tom, Draco and Hermione laughed. 

“Cheating is part of the whole thing,” Draco assured Harry. 

“Granted, I doubt anyone’s cheated as we are…if you can call this cheating,” Tom muttered. 

“No one else knows the tasks!” Harry hissed.

“Then tell them,” Draco offered. “I’m sure the Headmasters of the other two schools will make sure their champions know the tasks before hand. Only you and Diggory are at a disadvantage.”

“Dumbledore’s too high minded to think there will be cheating,” Tom drawled, rolling his eyes. 

Harry frowned. “So, it’s up to me to tell Diggory?”

The other three nodded. 

“Fine.”

“And no one will know you know, so one of the professors might help you out,” Hermione pointed out.

“You’re okay with cheating?”

“No, of course not,” Hermione said, sitting up straight. “But, I can be realistic. And I don’t want you to die or be grievously injured. We have an advantage and are using it. It’s not cheating really.” 

Draco chose not to voice his opinion on the matter. Instead he gathered his things as Tom went into his block. Harry pocketed the cube and looked up. 

“I don’t want Diggory to die this time. We’re going to change that.”

“Of course,” Hermione agreed. “That’s why we’re going to make sure you win and are first into the maze. Once you’re in the maze, you’ll be blind, but if we’re right and the Triwizard Cup is a Portkey to Voldemort, whoever is plotting against you will be making sure you make it to the Cup first. That is your goal. Get to it first to make sure no one else touches it. Once you’re sure, send up…whatever to say you’re in trouble. Someone will come and you then can say you get a weird vibe from the cup. Say something about Voldemort and Dumbledore might jump into action. Or something. We’ve got awhile to figure it out.” 

* * *

The castle went through some major fix-ups and cleaning the next few days. Several grimy portraits had been scrubbed, much to the displeasure of their subjects. For days many paintings had cranky people muttering darkly and glaring. Suits of armor were suddenly shiny and Filch was behaving ferociously towards any student who tracked any sort of dirt into the castle. He sent a group of first year girls into hysterics one afternoon when they’d tracked in a little bit of mud.

It was raining. Lots of people tracked in mud.  

Other members of staff also behaved tensely. 

“Longbottom, kindly do not reveal you can’t even perform a simple Switching Spell in front of any one from Durmstrang!” Professor McGonagall had barked after a difficult lesson. 

Neville nodded, glancing at his ears that were still on a cactus for some reason. 

Thus, on the morning of the thirtieth of October, the whole school was a bit on edge. Draco and Harry arrived in the Great Hall that morning to find the place decked out to boast school pride with silk banners representing each House. 

“It’s a bummer,” one of the twins was muttering to his twin as Draco and Harry sat down at the table for breakfast. “But if he won’t talk to us in person, we’ll have to send him the letter after all. Or we’ll stuff it into his hands. Can’t avoid us forever.”

“Who’s avoiding you?” Harry asked, peering between the usually jolly twins.

“No one,” lied the one on the left. 

“Who’d avoid us studs?” the other asked. “So, you got any ideas on how you’re going to enter the Triwizard Tournament?”

He waggled his eyebrows at Harry, who went a little pale.

“I’m not going to enter. Besides being too young, I’d rather not do anything that’ll likely end in my death,” Harry announced, turning away from the twins. 

“You won’t die, Harry,” assured the twin on the left. “There’s a panel of judges and all those safety things Dumbledore talked about.”

“Who are the judges?” Harry asked, pretending not to know.

“Well, the Heads of the participating schools are always on the panel,” the one of the right said. “And likely someone from the Ministry. You know, as the judges from the schools won’t judge fairly.”

Harry nodded, turning his attention to his breakfast. The twins began to brainstorm on how they were going to fool whatever Dumbledore was going to do to prevent them from entering. 

“Well, you ready?” Draco asked as they finished breakfast.

“No,” Harry said, looking gloomy. 

“Maybe Tom will figure it out before bed? See a name of someone he might think is…sketchy,” Draco offered.

Harry looked doubtful. 


	11. And So It Starts

**Disclaimer: If you know it, it is from _The Goblet of Fire_. I do not own it, nor will I ever claim I do. **

* * *

After being released early from Portions, Draco and Harry hurried to the Gryffindor Tower to drop off their belongings with the rest of their dorm mates. Harry lingered until the other boys were gone to activate the Maurader’s Map. Tom nodded his thanks and got to work studying the map, which showed the entire school heading for the Entrance Hall. 

“Don’t forget your cloak, Harry,” Tom called. 

“Oh, cheers,” Harry said, grabbing the black school cloak from its hook at the end of his bed. As he tossed it on he asked, “Why are they having us all stand outside to meet the other schools?”

“I don’t know. To make life difficult,” Draco suggested. “Come on, we’re already late.” 

The two boys rushed to join the rest of the students and were ordered to queue on the front steps by the Heads of House.

“Weasley, straighten your hat,” Professor Snape snapped. 

“Miss Patil, take that ridiculous thing out of your hair,” Professor McGonagall barked. 

Patil, the one in Gryffindor, removed the large ornamental butterfly from the end of her plait and scowled. The Patil in Ravenclaw sighed and exchanged looks with Hermione. 

“First years, in the front. No pushing!” McGongall called out. 

After everyone was satisfactory, they waited in the dark, cold evening air. Harry shifted on his feet next to Draco, while a few of the first years positively shivered with anticipation. Draco tried to remember how excited (and smug) he’d been the last time, but all he could think was he hoped a named popped out at Tom on the map so they might save Harry from his fate. 

Not that Time would be so kind…

“How d’you reckon they’re coming?” Dean Thomas inquired softly from behind Draco. “Train?”

“I doubt it,” Draco replied. 

“Portkey?” someone suggested.

“Unlikely.”

“Wizards like to show off for one another,” Harry said. “It’ll be something showy.”

Their fellow fourth years all nodded their agreement. 

“Aha! Unless I am very much mistaken, the delegation from Beauxbatons approaches!” Dumbledore called out from somewhere at the back.

“Where?” many students asked, looking around. 

“There!” someone yelled. 

Draco pointed Harry in the right direction, watching Harry’s reaction as he saw the huge horse and carriage for the first time. Those unnatural green eyes almost popped out of his head. 

“It’s a dragon!” shirked a first year. 

“Don’t be stupid. It’s a flying house!”

Harry shook his head and looked at Draco, who smirked. 

“Magic is seriously amazing,” Harry whispered in awe as the gigantic, powder blue, horse drawn carriage the size of a house skimmed over the treetops of the Forbidden Forest. The carriage landed at a tremendous speed, causing several people to jump and the neat lines they’d once formed to break at the sound of the huge horses and carriage landing so loudly and violently. Before any of the Hogwarts students had a chance to recover, a boy in pale blue robes jumped down from the carriage and unfolded a set of golden steps. He sprang back respectfully before a shining, high heeled shoe emerged from inside the carriage. 

“Whoa,” Harry said at the sight of the black shoe roughly the size of a child’s sled. 

Harry glanced at around before looking back at the oversized woman who’d emerged from the carriage. Draco knew he was trying to compare the taller than average woman with Hagrid, who was absent. The woman carried herself differently from Hagrid, though, as she had a regal air. Her expensive clothing helped, as unlike Hagrid she was encased in fine black silk instead of rough cloth and leather. 

Dumbledore began clapping, snapping the students out of their daze. The students began applauding and the huge woman’s handsome olive face relaxed into a rather charming smile, gliding forward to greet Dumbledore. 

“My dear Madam Maxime,” Dumbledore greeted smoothly, kissing the woman’s extended hand. “Welcome to Hogwarts.”

“Dumbly-dorr,” the woman said in a deep, heavily accent voice. “I ‘ope I find you well?”

“In excellent form, I thank you.”

“My pupils,” Madam Maxime said, waving her enormous hands behind her carelessly.

The students of Hogwarts turned their attention to the students of Beauxbatons, who were all standing outside the carriage in pale blue robes of silk shivering. None of them had cloaks and their robes were thin. While some had scarves or shawls, they looked about as blue as their robes as they stared at Hogwarts with a bit of apprehension on their faces. 

“‘Ah Karkaroff arrived yet?” Madam Maxime inquired.

“He should be here at any moment,” Dumbledore assured. “Would you like to wait and greet him, or would you rather step inside and warm up a trifle?”

“Warm up, I think. But ze ‘orses…”

“Our Care of Magical Creatures teacher will be delighted to take care of them the moment he had returned from dealing with a slight situation that has arisen with some of his charges.”

“Skrewts,” Harry muttered darkly. 

Draco nodded his head, remembering those horrible things. He was glad to be done with them. By the look on Harry’s face, he wasn’t thrilled to be dealing with them. 

Madam Maxime explained the horses needs to Dumbledore, who assured her Hagrid would see to the care of the larger than life animals. Madam Maxime called for her students, who hurried after her through the parted crowd of Hogwarts students inside to warm up.

“Will Durmstrang’s horses be that big?” Finnigan asked, leaning around Thomas to address Draco. 

Draco peered at Finnigan wondering why the question was directed at him. 

“I doubt they will show up in the same fashion,” Harry said. “Where would the fun be in that?” 

Finnigan nodded and silence fell among the Hogwarts students as they stood on the steps shivering in the cold night air waiting for Durmstrang to arrive. 

“Oh,” Harry gasped, grabbing Draco’s sleeve and tugging. 

“The lake!” yelled Lee Jordan, pointing at the lake, where a muffled rumbling and sucking noise was getting louder and louder till a boat rose up out of the water, making the water ripple and crest like a storm was occurring on the lake. 

“Wow,” breathed quite a few students. 

The ship gleamed in the moonlight, looking oddly skeletal. The dim misty lights shimmered against the calming surface of the lake. When the ship stopped bobbing violently on the water, it moved towards the shore till it was close enough for a gang plank to be lowered. People began to disembark, appearing quite large and built exactly the opposite of the French students who’d arrived first. They were also dressed more for the weather in cloaks made out of shaggy matted fur. After the students had all disembarked, a man dressed in furs that were sleek and silver descended and made his way towards Dumbledore.

“Dumbledore!” he called out heartily as he walked up slope towards the stairs. “How are you, my dear fellow, how are you?”

Draco had forgotten what Karkaroff sounded like with his fruity, unctuous voice. As he stepped into the light pouring from the open front doors behind the students, his appearance came into clear view, reminding Draco how vain the man was. 

Harry turned and stared at Draco with a clear question in his eyes: how was this idiot a Death Eater. (Or well, a headmaster more than likely. Draco couldn’t remember if he’d said Karkaroff was a Death Eater or not.) 

Draco shrugged. 

“Blooming, thank you, Professor Karkaroff,” Dumbledore replied easily, shaking hands with the other man.

“Dear old Hogwarts,” Karkaroff chuckled, looking up at the castle, revealing yellow teeth when he smiled. “How good it is to be here, how good…Viktor, come along into the warmth…you don’t mind, Dumbledore? Viktor has a slight cold.”

“Oh!” several people gasped as Karkaroff beckoned forward a boy with a prominent curved noise, thick black eyebrows who shuffled as if he was uncomfortable on his feet. Draco glanced down at Hermione, who stared at the guy with a look of bewilderment on her face before meeting Draco’s gaze. She raised her eyebrows and Draco shrugged, trying hard not to laugh at her reaction to the guy who had asked Granger to the ball and later save her from the depths of the lake.

Knowing Time, it was going to happen and for reasons Draco didn’t care to analyze to deeply, he was less than pleased.  

* * *

Except maybe a few in Beauxbatons and all the lot from Durmstrang, everyone was excited about the fact a famous Quidditch player was in their mists. The entire student population was seriously twittering by the time they filed into the Great Hall. Just like last time, the students from Durmstrang sat at the Slytherin table, while the Beauxbatons students all sat at the Ravenclaw table. 

Hermione looked torn on if she wanted to sit at the Ravenclaw table or with Harry and Draco at the Gryffindor table. The Gryffindor table won out in the end after a very pretty blonde Beauxbatons student sat down next to Hermione and commented on Hermione’s hair or something. Whatever the girl said had caused Hermione to stand and storm over to the Gryffindor table.

“Really,” she huffed, sitting down. “It’s not that cold. Why didn’t they bring cloaks?”

“You got mad at her for her comments on the cold?” Draco asked, quirking an eyebrow. 

Hermione bristled. 

“Oh, that was just one of the few things she was complaining about,” Hermione raved. “Honestly. My hair is not a nest. It’s just full.”

“Yes, quite full,” Draco agreed, nodding his head and trying not to grin too largely. Compared to usual, her hair was quite tame tonight. 

“Very lovely,” Harry quickly added. 

“I like your hair,” Neville admitted, turning pink when Hermione turned to look at him. He quickly looked away and noticed Filch adding chairs to the Head Table. “Who else is coming? Why’s he putting out four chairs?”

“The other judges,” Hermione said, looking almost thankful for the change in topic. “Besides the Heads of each school, there will be two judges from the Ministry.”

The staff entered, the last being Dumbledore, Karkaroff and Madam Maxime. When their headmistress appeared, the students of Beauxbatons all jumped to their feet and stood at attention. While several Hogwarts students sniggered, the students did not appear embarrassed and did not retake their seats until Madam Maxime was seated herself. Dumbledore remained standing, glancing at the two empty chairs before turning back to face the crowd. 

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, ghosts and most particularly guests,” Dumbledore started, beaming around at the foreign students. “I have great pleasure in welcoming you to Hogwarts. I hope and trust your stay here will be both comfortable and enjoyable.”

The girl who’d mocked Hermione’s hair gave what was unmistakably a dervish laugh while clutching a muffler around her head. 

“No one is making you stay,” Hermione bristled in a hissing whisper. 

“The tournament will be officially opened at the end of the feast,” Dumbledore went on, failing to notice the blonde girl’s reaction. “I now invite you to all eat, drink and make yourselves at home!” 

Dumbledore sat down. Karkaroff immediately engaged the old man in conversation as the plates on the tables filled with food. Draco took in the greater variety of dishes and tried to look surprised. 

“What’s this?” Neville asked, staring at a large dish of shellfish stew. 

“Bouillabaisse,” Hermione supplied. 

“Bless you,” Harry said.

“It’s French,” Hermione announced, giving Harry a look. “I had it on holiday. It’s quite nice.”

“It’s gross,” Atlanta proclaimed. She was seated a few seats away from Harry, Ginny next to her like usual. Ginny snorted into her hand. Atlanta looked a little sheepish and added, “Unless you like shellfish.”

Neville made a face and helped himself to black pudding. 

The feast went on, the only excitement being when the blonde girl who’d laughed during Dumbledore’s speech and mocked Hermione’s hair went over to the Slytherin table to get a dish of something and almost caused Weasley to almost faint. 

“Oh, no,” Draco muttered. 

“What?” Harry asked, looking up from his chicken. 

“That’d Delacour,” Draco realized as the girl turned around.  

“No way,” Hermione said, turning around to stare at the girl as she glided back towards the Ravenclaw table while Weasley babbled to Zabini with a look combined dread and admiration on his face. 

“Oh, I’m sure it is,” Draco said, noting quite a few males were looking rather speechless as she glided back to her seat. 

“What’s the big deal?” Harry asked, looking confused. 

Hermione sniffed, turning back around and stabbed her empty plate. She glared moodily up at the Head Table, then changed gears so suddenly Draco almost got whiplash.

“Look who’s arrived!”

She extended her head to the Head Table, her eyes round with excitement. The two remaining seats were filled. Ludo Bagman and Barty Crouch were seated in the empty chairs. Bagman was merrily chatting with Karkaroff while Crouch was studying the students looking as if he was mad about missing an important meeting. 

“Oh,” Neville said. “I guess it makes sense. I read in the paper Bagman’s department organized the tournament with the help of Mr Crouch’s. So, they’re to be the other judges?”

Neville’s look of confusion at the silence his question was met with was lost on the other three. 

“Yes, Neville,” Atlanta said. “Oh, look, who tagged along.”

She smirked at Ginny, who groaned upon spotted the ever eager to please Percy Weasley standing off to the side, holding what appeared to be a mile high stack of file folders for some unknown reason. 

“Why is he here?” one of the twins asked. 

“I doubt Crouch even noticed he tagged along,” the other groused. 

“Oh, hush,” Hermione chided as pudding appeared on the table. “He seems quite excited.”

The Weasleys all stared at her, then rolled their eyes in unison. 

* * *

Once the golden plates were wiped clean (and someone had found a chair for Percy Weasley and his stack of folders), Dumbledore got to his feet. Draco placed a hand on Harry’s leg and gave him a warning look, as the boy was looking a wee bit green. 

“We’ve got time to figure things out,” Draco reminded Harry as Dumbledore began to explain the procedure and introduced the two Ministry wizards to the school. “Tom’s upstairs looking at the map, right?” 

“Yeah. Yes, he is,” Harry whispered back as Dumbledore continued to speak about the judges and how the panel would judge each champion’s efforts. As he spoke, Filch wheeled out some sort of casket. A murmur of excited interest rose from the watching students, a few of the shorter kids standing on the benches to see better.

“The instructions for the tasks the champions will face this year have already been examined by Mr Crouch and Mr Bagman,” Dumbledore was saying as Filch placed the chest on the table before him, “and they have made the necessary arrangements for each challenge. There will be three tasks, spaced throughout the school year, and each task will test the champions in many different ways…their magical prowess— their daring— their power of deduction— and, of course, their ability to cope with danger.”

There was a silence in the Great Hall that made it feel as if no one was breathing— except Harry who was breathing a little too often to look natural. Draco squeezed Harry’s leg hard. When that failed, Hermione stomped on his foot, which made the Boy Wonder bite his lip and his eyes tear up. It did, though, distract him from his mounting anxiety. 

Dumbledore explained how the tournament worked and how the champions would be judge and chosen. He finished his speech by tapping his wand on the casket to reveal a large, roughly hewn wooden cup. 

Harry made a face and looked at Draco.

“Wait for it,” Draco whispered.

Harry turned back just time to see the cup explode with dancing blue-white flames, making everyone gasp. Dumbledore placed the goblet on top of the closed casket, where it was clearly visible to the entire hall. 

“Tomorrow night, the Goblet will return the names of the three people it has judged the most worthy to represent their schools. I will place the Goblet of Fire in the Entrance Hall tonight and it will be available for anyone to access who wishes to compete.

“To ensure that no underage student yields to temptation, I will be drawing the Age Line around the Goblet of Fire. No one under the age of seventeen will be able to cross this line.”

Dumbledore went on to warn the students they ought to not lightly enter into competition and that once chosen they must compete. It was all old news to Draco, so he stopped listening. As soon as Dumbledore dismissed them off to bed, the twins began plotting how to get across the Age Line using a few drops of Aging Potion, which Hermione argued would never work. The three bickered as they made their way out of the Great Hall. 

“Let’s go talk to Tom,” Harry whispered to Draco. “See if any of the new people show up strange on the map. Then, I guess we need to figure out where he’ll hide in the Entrance Hall to watch the Goblet.”

Draco nodded, following so closely to Harry that he almost knocked the kid over when Harry paused to let someone exit before him. 

“Thank you,” said the fruity voice of Karkaroff, who froze when he noticed the person who’d paused to allow him and his students to pass outside. 

Harry flattened his fringe down (an automatic reaction when people stared at him wide eyed). 

“Yeah, he’s Harry Potter,” a growling voice said from behind.

Karkaroff spun around, appearing pale and weedy at the sight of the Mad-Eye Moody. The professor was leaning against a staff, his magical eye glaring unblinkingly at the Durmstrang headmaster.

“You!” Karkaroff shouted, staring at Moody as if he wasn’t sure he was really seeing him. 

“Me, and unless you’ve got something to say to Potter, Karkaroff, you might want to move. You’re in the way.”

Without another word, Karkaroff and his students swept out. Moody watched the tall headmaster with a look of weariness on his heavily scared face. 

* * *

Everyone in Gryffindor was so wrapped up in the choosing of the champions, there was no one in the dormitory when Harry and Draco arrived. Harry hurried over to the bed, ducking his head under the bed and grabbing the map and Tom’s block as Tom rose up from where he’d been hiding under the bed. Draco pulled the curtains shut and cast a few privacy spells trying not to think about the fact Tom spent a lot of time under Harry’s bed these days. 

“So?” Harry asked, looking hopeful as he set Tom’s block down on the bed so Tom wouldn’t sink through.

“Nothing,” Tom grumped darkly. “Everyone is who they claim to be.”

Harry studied the map, sighing deeply. “Are you sure?”

“While I am not sure the students are who they claim, I doubt Moldy Trousers would align himself with a seventeen-year-old student,” Tom drawled, giving Harry a look. “No, it will be an adult and a powerful one. Bagman is too much of an idiot and Crouch is…well, an avid Death Eater persecutor.”

“He is?” Draco and Harry both asked. 

Tom nodded. “It was Crouch who had Sirius jailed without trial. He was…very harsh in his methods of rounding up Death Eaters. During the war, Crouch gained a bit of power in the Ministry. At a time of uncertainty and fear, his harsh methods were welcomed as they yielded results. He allowed Aurors to kill— a first. It was only after his own son turned out to be a Death Eater that he fell from power, as if his son went bad, he must be doing something wrong.”

“What was his son’s name?” Draco asked, something itching behind his eyes at the story Tom was sharing. 

“I do not remember, but he is dead.” Tom’s tone was flat and he stared blankly off into the distance. “The papers reported the son was sickly at the trial— this also gained the son sympathy and aided in Crouch’s fall from grace. The son died within a year of being sentence to Azkaban, I believe and Crouch’s wife died within a few months of that. Crouch was shuffled into the Department of International Cooperation, loosing his bid for Minister all within a few months of…Voldemort’s fall from power.”

Harry shuddered. “Crouch as minister? That’s like Percy being minister.”

Draco nodded his agreement. “So, we’re sure Crouch is Crouch?”

“Who else would he be? He’s the last living member of his family,” Tom pointed out. He picked up his block, tossing it between his hands, and sighed. “Harry, we can go down now and you can leave me the cupboard near the corridor to the Hospital Wing.”

Harry nodded, getting off the bed. “I’ll grab you before dinner tomorrow. If you’re good, you can hang out under the table during the feast!”

Tom glared at Harry as Harry went through his trunk. 

“What?” Harry asked, looking up when he found his Cloak. 

“You will retrieve the block and myself before dinner. I will remain in the cube. I will not sit under a table like a dog.” 

Draco remained silent as the two continued to bicker until Harry threw the Invisibility Cloak over his head and vanished as Neville burst into the room to tend to Moody’s dying plant. Using Neville’s distraction at finding Draco sans Harry, Tom and Harry shuffle out behind Neville before Neville slammed the door and headed to care for the ugly plant. 


	12. Picking of the Champions

**Disclaimer: If you know it, I do not own it as it’s from _Goblet of Fire_ by JKR. **

* * *

The next morning found Draco so anxious he woke at the ungodly hour of six in the morning. Unable to go back to sleep, he crept down to the Entrance Hall. As his steps echoed across the marble floor, Tom poked his head through the door of the cupboard he was hidden within, the scowl on his face aimed at the other boy. Draco rolled his eyes as Tom jerked his head back into the cupboard. Draco reached the door, quietly eased it open and slipped inside. 

Tom greeted Draco with folded his arms and dirty look painting his much too handsome face. 

“Well?” Draco asked, ignoring Tom’s expression.

“No one,” Tom ground out. “There was no one all night. You’re the first solid being I’ve seen.”

Draco sighed, kneading the spot between his eyes. “How will whoever do it during the day?”

Tom leaned over the Maurader’s Map, which was set up on a crate, his block sitting in the dead center of it.

“Polyjuice Potion to look like a seventeen-year-old student. Imperious Curse to make one of the older students enter under Harry’s name. Confound a student to enter Harry,” Tom suggested. “There are a wide array of methods available. The map will rule out the Polyjuice method, but the others I listed…” 

“What about the international students? You don’t know them.”

“I noted all international students names last night. I also know the names of the Death Eaters who are not currently dead or in Azkaban,” Tom admitted. 

Draco stared at Tom for a long, drawn out moment.

“Addy told you their names?”

“She left me their names,” Tom said, his eyes glued to the parchment. 

Draco nodded his understanding, shifting his gaze to the map. The castle was slowly waking, students beginning to move around commons rooms and dormitories.  

“And you haven’t shared this information because?”

Tom met Draco’s grey eyes calmly. “Your name is on the list. I assumed you knew your fellow friends.”

Draco coldly glared at Tom, not liking the taunting tone of the other boy’s voice. “The goal was not to know who was in and who was out. I know the Inner Circle, but I don’t know everyone he marked.”

Tom made a noise through his noise, breaking eye contact.  

“They weren’t my friends.”

“No, no, I guess they weren’t,” Tom allowed, glancing at Draco before looking to the map again. “Ah, here comes the Durmstrang lot. And Crouch. Interesting. He must want to make sure the former Death Eater doesn’t cheat, though he’s the one who let him out of jail for being a knave.”

Draco leaned over and watched the line of students enter the Entrance Hall. They all approached the Goblet of Fire, paused for a moment near it, and headed back outside. During the time Tom and Draco had been speaking, the masses of Hogwarts had awakened and were milling around the Entrance Hall waiting for breakfast to begin. Crouch stood on the balcony over looking the Entrance Hall, unmoving from his spot as the Durmstrang lot put their names into the Goblet. Draco scanned the names of all those present, but failed to see any that were out of place. Draco slumped against the wall, sliding down till he was seated on the floor.

* * *

Draco used the distraction of George and Fred trying to get across the Age Line to slip out of the cupboard to meet up with Harry who was standing in the Entrance Hall with Hermione. As Draco slid out of the cupboard, laughter filled the Entrance Hall as the twins both pointed and laughed at finding each other channeling Dumbledore with long, grey beards.

“I did warn you,” a deep voice said from above. Everyone looked up to find an amused looking Professor Dumbledore. He descended the stairs and surveyed the twins with a twinkle in his eye. “I suggest you go find Madam Pomfrey. She’s already attending to Miss Fawcett and Mr Summers. Their beards, though, are not as fine as yours, might I add.”

The twins laughed louder, falling onto one another for support as they walked off in the direction of the Hospital Wing. 

“I told them,” Hermione muttered as Draco joined her and Harry. 

“Yeah, but it was worth them not listening, can’t deny that,” Harry chortled. He sobered up once he spotted Draco. “Anything?”

Draco shook his head. “Tom has a list of free Necro Munchers.”

Harry looked appalled while Hermione quirked her eyebrow.

“Necro Muchers?” she faintly asked. 

“He what?” Harry squeaked.

“Addy left it for him, right?” Hermione inquired.

Draco nodded.

“Makes sense. Well, let’s eat breakfast. No use standing around out here.”

The three headed into the Great Hall as Angelina Johnson crossed the Age Line and dropped her name into the cup. 

* * *

The trio spent their afternoon with Hagrid, who was thrilled to see them and accused them of forgetting where he lived. Hagrid was dressed oddly, wearing a rather hairy brown suit for some reason. He was brimming with excitement over the first task as well.  (Made sense, Hagrid loved dragons.) The trio attempted to prod the man for some hints, but he refused (badly)— failing to notice the fact they weren’t all that interested or excited as they ought to be. (Or that he was really giving away the fact the first task contained dragons.) 

“I guess we oughta head out,” Hagrid announced upon noticing the growing darkness outside. “Mustn’t be late.”

Harry let out a pitiful noise, which Hagrid failed to hear because he was too busy drowning himself in something horridly smelly.

“Is that aftershave?” Hermione asked in a chocked voice. 

“Er— eau de cologne,” Hagrid muttered, blushing bright red. “Maybe it’s too much. I’ll go take it off.”

He stumped outside and dunked his head into a barrel of water, scrubbing like mad. 

“Eau de cologne? Hagrid?” Hermione asked, looking baffled. 

“Can I die yet?” Harry asked in a high pitched voice.

“No,” Hermione and Draco said in unisone with tired voices. 

“Please?”

“Harry,” Hermione chided. “It’s not the end of the world. Honestly. You have the advantage.”

Harry slumped. “I don’t wanna do this. It’s not fair. Why me?”

“Life isn’t fair,” Draco muttered, watching Hagrid charge off away from his house. “Well, he left without us.”

“What?” 

Hermione ran to the window, getting on her tiptoes to see out.

“Oh. I get it now,” she muttered.

“What?” Harry asked, joining them.

“He’s got a crush,” Hermione giggled. “Well, let’s go. I doubt he’ll be coming back for us now that he’s met up with Madam Maxime.”

The three let themselves out of the cabin and trailed behind the two neat lines of Beauxbatons students. As they neared the doors, the Durmstrang lot came out of their boat, heading for the castle. They’d all lost their fur capes and were now sporting blood red robes that looked quite fancy for a school uniform. The Durmstrang lot reached the doors before Draco, Hermione and Harry, who was dragging his feet.

“Come on, Harry. You gotta go get Tom and his block,” Draco whispered as they entered the Entrance Hall. “Go. Everyone is distracted because Krum’s here.”

Harry nodded, darting over to the cabinet and entering. Hermione and Draco loitered in the Entrance Hall till Harry popped out of the cabinet and rejoined them, stuffing the map into his pocket. 

“Well, I guess I ought to sit at my table. I’ll see you afterwards. Find me,” she ordered before stalking towards the Ravenclaw table. 

“Who was she ordering? Won’t I be busy?” Harry asked, his voice going a little high and cracking.

“Calm down,” Draco urged as the pair took their usual spot at the Gryffindor table. 

“You calm down,” Harry snapped. “Why is it always me?”

“Because you’re his favorite,” Draco quipped. “Marv has always had a soft spot for making your life difficult.”

Harry darkly glared at Draco. 

Everyone one was so excited about the coming feast and the picking of the champions, no one paid any attention (maybe for the first time) to Harry Potter— who sulked, stabbed his plate and failed to eat.

Draco sighed near the end of the longer than usual feast, eyeing Harry. 

“You need to eat something,” Draco muttered. 

“Are you feeling all right, Harry?” Neville asked form his seat across from him. 

“Huh?”

“I think Harry ate one of Hagrid’s rock cakes this afternoon,” Draco lied.

“Stupid rock cakes,” Harry muttered, stabbing his food once more before it vanished into thin air. 

Everyone turned to face the Head Table. Dumbledore slowly rose to his feet, his face shining with excitement. Everyone else looked similar at the Head Table (even Snape), except for Crouch, who looked bored. Any moment he was going to yawn or pull out some paperwork. 

“Hey, where’d Percy go?” Harry asked. “I thought he was here?”

“Maybe Crouch dealt with the files and sent him back home?” Draco suggested. 

“The Goblet is almost ready to make its decision,” Dumbledore announced, smiling and twinkling. “I estimate that it requires one more minute.”

Harry looked like he was going to pass out. Draco elbowed him and gave him a look he hoped said for Harry to get it together. 

“Now, when the champions’ names are called, please walk along the staff table and go through into the next chamber,” Dumbledore instructed, indicating to the door behind the Head Table. “In that chamber, you will receive your instructions for the first task.” 

Dumbledore pulled his wand from his sleeve and gave a great sweeping motion to extinguish all the candles except those living inside the carved pumpkins that bobbed in the air to celebrate the holiday. The Great Hall was plunged into semidarkness, which allowed the Goblet of Fire with its blue-white flames to look spectacular and eerie at the same time. All eyes watched the blue-white flames dance for the rest of the minute till suddenly the flames turned red and golden sparks flew out of the goblet. The next moment a tongue of flames shot into the air, releasing a charred piece of parchment, which Dumbledore caught as the entire hall (save Draco and Harry) gasped. 

“The champion for Durmstrang,” Dumbledore began as the Goblet went blue-white again, “will be Viktor Krum.”

“No surprise there!” shouted Finnigan, clapping along with the rest of the hall. 

Viktor Krum rose from the Slytherin table and slouched up towards the Head Table, walking along the front till he vanished through the door behind the table. Karkaroff boomed loudly his praise for the boy, even after Krum was long gone. 

As the clapping died down, the Goblet of Fire turned red again, spitting out the next name.

“The champion for Beauxbatons is Fleur Delacour!”

The hall clapped again, though not as loudly. Several of her fellow students looked livid, while some looked crushed. One girl even burst into tears. Delacour failed to noticed and glided up the aisle with a smug, yet somehow obtuse expression on her lovely face and vanished behind the staff table into the chamber.

“One more left,” one of the twins whispered, leaning forward and vibrating in his seat. 

“Hope it’s Angelina,” the other said, grinning as said girl.

Angelina Johnson smiled, but looked mildly confused as she gave the twins thumbs up. 

The Goblet turned red once more, shooting out the third parchment.

“The Hogwarts champion is Cedric Diggory!”

“Say what?” the twins asked together.

Anything else anyone might be saying was completely drowned out by the cheers and hollers from the Hufflepuff table as Cedric attempted to make his way to the chamber. Everyone was so busy cheering and paying attention to the Hufflepuffs, they failed to notice the Goblet was doing another cycle of Spit Out a Champion. 

It should have gone out after spitting out Cedric’s name.

It was still going strong.

Harry’s nails dug into Draco’s leg.

“Excellent!” Dumbledore shouted as the Hufflepuffs finally let Cedric go and he vanished into the chamber. “Well, we now have our champions. I am sure I can count on all of you, including the remaining students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, to give your champions every ounce of support you can muster. By cheering your champion on, you will—” 

Dumbledore stopped speaking, having noticed the Goblet was red again. Harry’s grip on Draco’s leg became painful and all color (green included) drained from Harry’s face as the last piece of charred parchment flew into the air. The old man looked bemused  as he snatched the bit of parchment out of the air and read it. Complete silence fell on the Great Hall. The old man looked up and stared straight at Harry, then looked at Draco. Draco tensed. 

Dumbledore cleared his throat and looked back at Harry, confusion lacing his tone as he said, “Harry Potter.” 

Everyone in the hall turned to stare at Harry, who was as white as a ghost and clutching Draco’s leg. Draco kicked Harry his the shin, which jarred Harry from his stupor. 

“I didn’t put my name in,” Harry squeaked out. “I didn’t…I didn’t…”

He was doing a really good act of being clueless in his complete fear of the predicted future coming true. 

“Harry Potter!” Dumbledore called again. “Harry! Up here, if you please.”

“Give me the block and get up there,” Draco hissed, reaching into the pocket he knew the block was located. As he did, he hauled Harry to his feet and shoved him down the aisle. Just like Potter, Harry tripped over the hem of his robes, almost face-planting on the floor. Harry walked forward in a daze and came to a stop in front of Dumbledore, who wasn’t watching Harry, but staring at Draco with an unreadable look on his face. 

“Well, through the door, Harry,” Dumbledore said, still not looking at Harry. 

Harry stiffly moved around the staff table and vanished through the door. 

“Mr Malfoy, please come here.”

Now, everyone was really confused. Internally cringing, Draco got up and headed towards Dumbledore. As soon as Draco reached Dumbledore, the old man gripped his shoulder with surprising strength and dismissed the entire congregation with a few curt words. A few teachers jumped into action to usher the shocked population to their Houses. Dumbledore steered Draco away from everyone and into yet another chamber off the Great Hall. Once they were inside, he pressed Draco into a chair and swept passed him to a window that overlooked the grounds.

“You knew this would happen,” Dumbledore stated, cutting straight to the chase.

Draco shifted, not knowing what to say.

“He’s returning.”

No need to clarify who _he_ was.

Draco nodded and said, “Yes, sir.”

Dumbledore did not look happy. “Will he live?”

“Harry?”

Dumbledore nodded.

“Yes.”

Without another word, the Headmaster swept out of the room, meeting Snape and McGonagall outside the door. Karkaroff and Maxime were loudly arguing with Bagman and Crouch. The door slammed as soon as Dumbledore was through, closing out the noise. Draco slumped in his seat.

Dumbledore knew he was from the future.

Draco sat in the dark room for a few minutes before he decided he ought to head back to the dormitory to await the likely to be sick Harry Potter. Oh, and Hermione had ordered him to meet her. 

“He didn’t take it well, did he?”

Draco screamed— a little girly.

“Honestly, Malfoy.”

“How’d you get out?” Draco asked, staring at Tom, who was poking his head out of Draco’s pocket— which was creepy on ten different levels. 

“I’m still in the block,” Tom supplied. “Lately, since I spent so much time with this block, I’ve managed to get some control on how much I’m in or out. I am able to keep my concept of time and being within the block now.”

Tom looked very smug before it slipped off his face. Tom turned away from Draco before he began speaking again.

“I wanted to know how it went during the feast. I thought Harry wouldn’t be so…”

“Frightened?”

“Yes.”

“I’m frightened and I know what is going on,” Draco admitted.

“So does Harry. I wonder how Potter took it,” Tom mused. “Well, let’s go. I doubt Dumbledore will be returning for you. He got what he wanted.”

“That’s all he wanted? He didn’t ask me who put the name in,” Draco said.

“You don’t know. Also, time is a messy, tricky thing. Dumbledore is not an idiot. You don’t mess with time,” Tom said. 

“Then what I am doing?”

“Fixing time,” Tom supplied. “Let’s go. I doubt Hermione is waiting as she would have been ushered to Ravenclaw if she was caught lingering.”

Tom’s head vanished in a shimmer of grey and black magic. Shivering, Draco hurried out of the room. 


	13. Aftermath

**Disclaimer: If you know it, I do not own it and it is likely from _Goblet of Fire_ by JKR.**

* * *

Gryffindor House was in celebration mode when Draco arrived. The moment he’d uttered _Balderdash_ , Draco was hit by a wall of noise, yanked through the hole, and congratulated several times before someone realized he wasn’t Harry, but in fact Draco Malfoy. Silence fell. Draco wrenched free from whoever was holding his arms and stared around at the faces of his housemates. 

“Where’s Harry?” was chorused around the room. 

Draco didn’t answer. 

“D’you know how he did it?” one of the twins asked.

“No.”

“Why do you look so angry?” someone asked.

Draco rolled his eyes and stomped off up the stairs to the dormitory, which was thankfully empty. He set Tom’s block on Harry’s bed and sat down himself to wait for the Boy-Who-Had The-Worst-Luck-In-The-World. Tom’s head poked out, followed by the rest of his body when he’d concluded the two were alone. 

“Gryffindors are sure…rambunctious.”

“Yes, they are. They are thrilled Harry’s in a competition that will end up bringing Voldemort back to life! Whooo!” Draco sarcastically exclaimed, waving his arms above his head before flopping backwards on the bed.

“They do not know that, Malfoy,” Tom drawled.

“True, but they ought to know when Harry’s involved in something he ought not to, it’s got Snake Face written all over it.”

Tom extended his head in agreement. 

* * *

Draco was half asleep on the bed two hours later when the door banged open and Harry sighed, “Oh thank god. Sane people.”

Tom snickered. 

Draco pushed himself onto his elbows. “Ah, He-Who-Must-Have-A-Death-Wish has returned. Glory on highest.”

Harry scowled. “I do not have a death wish.”

Tom snorted.

“So, what happened once you got joined the big kids?” Draco asked. 

“Fleur wanted to know if I was sent to bring them somewhere else. I just stood there like a loser till the teachers all stormed in, shouting at one another. Dumbledore put an end to the shouting by announcing I had to compete, as my name popped out. This made Fleur and Diggory upset, though, only Fleur was vocal about it. Diggory just looked like someone had called off Christmas. Krum brooded in a corner till Karkaroff tried to drag him out of the room while proclaiming he wasn’t going to let Krum compete. Of course, then Crouch loudly said everyone had to compete because it is stated in the rules once your name comes out, you’re entered and will die if you don’t. (Is it me, or is that just the dumbest thing in the world? Why are wizards so life or death all the time?) Dumbledore then asked me if I had asked an elder student to enter me. I said no and then everyone began shouting again till Dumbledore proclaimed someone wants me dead and guess who wants me dead?”

Harry made some wild eyes and waited. (And caught his breath, as he failed to take one during his rant.)

“Surely you don’t want me to actually guess, do you?” Draco drawled, quirked his eyebrow.

“I’m not Shirley,” Harry said, flopping backwards onto Draco’s bed. “But I am serious. Here I come dragons!”

Draco and Tom exchanged looks before looking back at Boy Wonder. 

“What was Karkaroff’s reaction?” Tom idly inquired, studying his nails. 

“Passed being furious, wanting to withdraw, and saying it wasn’t fair there were two Hogwarts champions?” Harry asked. 

Tom nodded.

“Nothing. Dumbledore pointed out I wasn’t entered under Hogwarts as a school. I belong to no one, evidently. You were supposed to write down your school and name. Just my name’s on it.”

Harry reached into his pocket and took out the charred piece of parchment that shot out of the Goblet of Fire. Tom eyed it greedily. Draco allowed Tom to survey it for a minute before he snatched it out of Harry’s hand and studied the handwriting.

“This is not your chicken scratch handwriting,” Draco stated flatly. “Anyone who’s been forced to read one of your essays would know you didn’t enter yourself.”

“Looks like a pureblood’s handwriting,” Tom commented, looking over Draco’s shoulder. “Or someone from my generation when we all had proper handwriting and didn’t scribble.”

“I have good handwriting!” Harry shouted. “Just because it fails to look as elaborate as either of yours…”

“Tom’s right, though. Whoever entered you was trained to write like this,” Draco cut in. “So that narrows our list of suspects to either seriously old people or purebloods.”

“No adult entered their name. Each person who entered was a student,” Tom said.

“So, it was…a pureblood student.”

“So, we cross out several Hogwarts students and Beauxbatons, but none of the Durmstrang students,” Tom stated. “It does not narrow it, though, because one of the half-bloods or Muggleborns could have entered the scrap of parchment whilst cursed.”

Draco swore. 

“So, basically, we can’t trace it?” Harry asked, looking between Tom and Draco with a small trace of hope in his eyes they’d contradict him.  

“I did not say that,” Tom huffed. “I invented a handwriting identifying spell. It is complicated and one must be licensed to use it.”

“Huh?” Harry blinked at Tom dumbly.

“The spell is mostly used by historians who want to make sure a document is what it claims and by Aurors who need to use it for their cases,” Tom explained. “I used it to make sure the Slytherin journal was the real thing when you finally handed it over.”

“You didn’t trust me?” Harry asked, looking hurt.

Tom sighed. “I did. The fact it was written in Parseltounge was enough for me to trust it was the real thing. I wanted to see, if in fact, it was Slytherin and not one of his children. It was Slytherin himself.

“However, the spell is located at the flat. I’d have to return there to perform it.”

“Oh,” Harry deflated. 

“Tom can go to the flat over the holidays—” Draco started. 

“Oh, is Atlanta not going to the dance?” Harry interrupted. “There’s a dance, right? That’s why Hermione keeps looking at Krum funny. Because he took Granger. Who’d I take?”

“I don’t know,” Draco snapped. “I forgot about the dance.”

Tom snickered.

Draco threw a pillow at him, which did nothing other than to cause him to go a little misty. Once he was whole again, Tom shot Draco a pissed off look.  

“Well, how is Tom going to get home?” Harry asked. 

“I’ll request Atlanta not attend the ball. She’s too young to stay without a date, correct?”

Draco nodded.

“Then that is settled. Unless either of you wish to ask her,” Tom said, eyeing the pair of boys. 

“No,” Harry quickly said. “I don’t want to ask anyone.”

“You have to have a date. You’re a champion,” Draco reminded him.

Harry cursed. 

“Ask Hermione before Krum does,” Tom suggested. “I’m sure she will understand going as friends.”

“Or Ginny,” Draco suggested, making Harry turn beet red. “Or, you could ask Cho before Cedric does. Don’t dawdled.”

Tom gave Draco another dark look while Harry hit Draco with the pillow he’d tried to use against Tom. 

“Dumbledore knows Draco’s a time traveler,” Tom announced over the noise of Harry trying to crush Draco with a pillow.

“What?” Harry screeched, toppling over in his shock. 

“He spoke to me before he spoke to you,” Draco said, smoothing his hair and straightening out his jumper.

“What did he want? How does he know?”

“He simply asked me if you lived,” Draco replied.

“After asking him if he knew this was going to happen,” Tom added. 

“So, he’s not going to send you off to jail or the MInistry for testing?”

Draco shook his head. “Highly unlikely.”

“Well, there’s not much we can do other than prepare you for the task now. I suggest tomorrow we begin training you to summon your broom,” Tom said, pretending to straighten out and smooth invisible wrinkles out of his sweater vest.

“I’ll send Hermione a text to meet us for breakfast,” Draco said, making to get off Harry’s bed. 

Harry cringed.

“Why don’t you suggest she pick you two up some breakfast and you eat in the Room of Requirement to avoid the masses,” Tom suggested.

“Harry?” Draco asked, looking to Harry.

“Yeah. Tell her to meet us there with some food around eight.”

* * *

After escaping the Gryffindor Common room after being mauled by the Creevey brothers and suffering through several rounds of applause, Draco was happy for Tom’s suggestion they head straight to the Room of Requirement and avoid the Great Hall. 

Hermione was carrying a rather large hamper of food when Draco and Harry met her outside the blank stretch of wall on the seventh floor where the Room of Requirement was located. 

“I went to the kitchens and got some breakfast,” Hermione explained. “I wasn’t sure which room Tom was suggestion, so I figured I’d wait.”

Harry nodded. “Tom told me how to get the room he was talking about. I’ll do it.”

Putting on a serious face, Harry paced back and forth three times before a large, familiar door appeared. Harry flung the door opened and gasped. 

“Whoa.”

Draco poked his head into the room and felt something crawl down his back as he stared into the room he’d spent a majority of his sixth year within. He hadn’t realized this was the room Tom had meant, though, it made sense. The room was hidden, filled with junk, and did in fact go on for days. 

“Draco?” Hermione asked.

“Let’s eat and then we can teach Harry the charm,” Draco said, quickly entering. He glanced in the direction the cabinet would be/could be/might be one day hidden. Shaking himself, he turned the opposite direction. 

Tom appeared out of Harry’s pocket and was peering around like he was looking for something. Harry gasped.

“How did you do that?” Harry asked, staring at Tom in shock. 

“This way, I believe,” Tom said instead of answering. He indicated down an aisle near where Draco was standing. Draco quickly headed down, following by Harry, who asked Tom a few more times how he’d magically popped out of the block and Tom refused to answer properly. After ten minutes and a few wrong turns, the group found the spot Tom was looking for. It contained a purple couch so old Draco was sure it was the first ever made, a broken coffee table and a chair that had likely been upholstered by a blind person it was such a lurid shade of green color. 

“This is where Addy and Regulus used to…congregate,” Tom said stiffly. “The table is broken, but it is easily fixed if you wish to use it to eat upon. They never used the table.” 

Draco nodded and fixed the table with a wave of his wand. Hermione got excited to try a color changing charm on the chair, so she turned it bright blue. Hermione turned the couch a bright shade of emerald. Harry laughed, as it was an exact match for his freaky, overly green eyes. Draco took the hamper up from where Hermione had set it and put it on the center of the table and flipped the lid. 

“Okay, so how do you summon things?” Harry asked, as grabbed a muffin out of the hamper. 

“It’s a simple charm, but you need to focus,” Hermione said, going into instructor mode. “ _Accio_ is the incantation. Then you add on what you want to summon to yourself. Tom, could you find us something far away to summon?”

Tom nodded, reaching into Harry’s pocket for his block. Harry let out a yelp of indignation, which Tom ignored and vanished down a pathway. The trio ate their breakfast, Harry filling Hermione in what had occurred after he’d gone off to become a champ. Draco shared his meeting with Dumbledore. As they finished, Tom returned and said he’d found a broom (broken of course) that was roughly a mile away.

“A mile? This room goes on for a mile?” Hermione asked, awe in her eyes. 

“Goes on for longer,” Tom replied, glancing at Hermione before putting his attention back on Harry. “It’s a Cleansweep 2.”

Harry nodded. “So if I said _broom_ it wouldn't come?”

“No. You don’t know what it looks like, so your mind will simply picture a broom,” Tom replied. “If you do not know what the item looks like, you must call it by its proper name. With your own broom, you can say broom and it’ll come to you.”

“Could I summon my broom to here?”

“Do you want it flying through the corridors?”

“Oh. No.”

“Let’s begin,” Hermione said, moving the coffee table while Draco moved chair to the side.

* * *

Harry did not master the charm, or even come close to getting the Cleansweep 2 Tom had found to move. He was, though, successful at avoiding the entire school the day after the Goblet of Ruination spat out Harry’s name. However, the following day, Boy Wonder was unable to avoid the his fellow students. 

The Hufflepuffs were remarkably cold towards all Gryffindors. Draco was amazed the whole group was able to be so cold and, well, mean. Hufflepuffls were the nice ones. 

Harry pouted, as it wasn’t his fault he’d turned into the Boy-Who-Stole-Cedric’s-Glory. No one cared that Harry didn’t want to be in the competition, he didn’t actually put his name in the Goblet of Ruination and no one cared that Voldemort was out to get Harry Potter and might have a sinister plot to enter him in a tournament and cause death by winning (or something). 

“I didn’t sign up for this,” Harry moaned like a broken record throughout Herbology, as the Hufflepuffs and Professor Sprout all acted as if Harry failed to exist (except when they were dumping extra dung on his shoes). 

Draco patted Harry on the back, unsure what to say. 

Draco parted ways with Harry after Herbology and headed for Arithmancy. He took his usual seat and waited for Zabini to arrive, wondering how the Slytherin was taking Harry becoming the fourth champion in a championship meant for three. 

“So,” Zabini drawled, sliding into his chosen seat next to Draco. “Potter’s a champion?”

“Seems so,” Draco said. 

“I do believe someone has something against Potter,” Zabini offered, not meeting Draco’s eye but busying himself with his notes. “I’m not sure why the school believes Potter entered himself for a bit of fame and glory.”

Zabini glanced up and met Draco’s eyes. 

“He looked quite ill after his name was called,” Zabini went on. “Didn’t look as if he wanted to take his place in the limelight.”

The conversation ended as Professor Vector entered and began the lesson. 

* * *

“I want to crawl into a hole and die,” Harry moaned, hiding under his pillow. “This is worse than when the school thought I was the Heir of Slytherin.”

“You are the Heir of Slytherin,” Draco said, frowning as he tried to figure out where he’d gone wrong in the translation he was working on for Ancient Runes. 

“He is not,” Tom snapped. “I am.”

“No, you’re not. You’re not alive,” Draco said, finding the rune he missed and had lead him astray. “And Slytherin himself took the title away from Voldemort and gave it to Harry two years ago.”

“Harry cannot be Heir. He’s not related to Slytherin!” 

Tom was seriously upset, which only made what Draco said next all the sweeter. 

“Harry, did you fail to tell your new best friend you stole his birthright?” Draco quipped, containing a smirk. “Tsk, tsk.” 

Harry panicked, his emerald eyes flying to Tom, who was working himself into a slow boil. “I didn’t steal it! I didn’t ask for him to do whatever he did! I just smell right now for some reason! It happened when I was battling with…another version of you that didn’t look like you.”

Tom looked really pissed off. Draco wasn’t sure if it was at Diary Marv, the actual Marv, Slytherin, or Harry. Draco couldn’t stay in the room when all he wanted to do was continue to make Tom mad, so he packed up his homework and made a beeline for the door. He shut the door just as Tom exploded. He lingered near the door, trying not to take joy in the fact Tom was so angry that Voldemort had ruined his birthright and he’d gotten no say in it. Harry began to shout along with Tom, so Draco quietly headed down the stairs. Draco hated doing his homework in the dormitory, but Harry detested being in the Common Room because everyone was constantly trying to get them to tell them how he’d entered the Triwizard Tournement and the library was out of the question from all the hostile glares people shot at Harry for existing.  

Draco found an empty table in the Common Room and went back to work on his Ancient Runes homework. 

“So, how’s he doing?”

Draco looked up to find Ginny and Atlanta sliding into the seats across from him. 

“He’s currently bickering with an apparition on his status as Heir of Slytherin,” Draco grumbled, not thinking about the fact Ginny didn’t know about Tom or that neither knew Harry’s status as Heir. 

“Harry’s not the Heir of Slytherin. And why is he fighting with a ghost?” Ginny asked. 

“The whole school is being unreasonable and it had clearly gone to Harry’s head. He’s broken under the pressure,” Atlanta offered, looking at Ginny. 

“Harry’s not insane. Or crazy. I’ll go talk to him,” Ginny said, standing. 

Atlanta grabbed her by the arm and sat her back the chair. “I was joking. As was Draco. I’m sure Harry’s simply avoiding the whole school while screaming into his pillow how unfair life is.”

Draco snorted

“It is clear Harry did not enter himself nor does he wish to compete,” Atlanta went on. “He looks about five time too short and too young since his name popped out of the Goblet. If he was attention hungry, he’d look more the part and not spend his time hiding.”

“Quite right,” Ginny agreed, turning to Draco. “So, I heard a rumor there’s a dance on Christmas.”

Draco felt his ears turn pink and his stomach flipped over. 

“Oh, god. Would you look at the time? I have to go…meet Hermione in the library.” 

Draco gathered his belongings and made a quick exit. He sighed once he was outside, pulling out the charmed parchment and asking Hermione where she was. He might as well get her help on his Ancient Runes, as he was confused and chased out of Gryffindor Tower.

Blasted Gryffindors…

* * *

“Like them, Malfoy?”

Hermione had told Draco she was in the library, so of course on his way there, he’d run into Nott and his cronies. 

“Like what, Nott?” Draco asked, feeling tired. 

Nott indicated to his chest, where he was wearing the SUPPORT CEDRIC DIGGORY badge. He’d yet to see them on the students, but he figured it was only a matter of time before they’d show up again. In the dim corridor, the badge burned brightly. Glancing at the blundering dunderheads that followed Nott around, Draco noted they both wore badges and dimwitted smiles. 

“Oh, charming,” Draco drawled. “Did you come up with that yourself?”

“You haven’t even seen what they do!” Nott cried, looking upset. “Watch.”

Nott pressed the badge to his chest, causing the message to vanish and to be replaced by another one that glowed green. 

“Ah, Potter stinks. So, original. I can think of several snakes who would agree Potter smells, though they think he smells good,” Draco said, remembering that Harry had shouted about smelling right to snakes as Draco grabbed his school bag to hightail it out of the tower. 

“No snake would think Potter smelled good!” Nott shouted. “He stinks.”

“Oh, very funny,” Hermione said, appearing behind Nott. She put her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes. “It’s really witty.”

“Want one, Granger?” Nott asked, holding out a badge to Hermione. “I’ve got loads. But, don’t touch my hand. I’ve just washed it and I don’t want a Mudblood sliming it up.”

Hermione quirked an eyebrow and opened her mouth, but didn’t get to say whatever she was going to say, as Draco slugged Nott in the nose, spinning the reedy boy around till he stumbled into Goyle. Hermione looked appalled, but hurried to Draco’s side while Nott struggled to his feet. 

“Oops. I seem to have gotten some gross moron blood on me. I hope it doesn't render me as ignorant as you, Nott,” Draco spat, ignoring the pain in his fist.

Who knew throwing a punch hurt that much? 

Nott straightened out, swiped at his bloody nose and whipped his wand out. He shot out a spell before Draco could get his own wand out of his sleeve.

“ _Densaugeo!”_

Crap. 

Same spell Draco had used in the passed during his fight with Potter outside Potions, hit Hermione once again square in the mouth, making the girl whimper and put her hands up to cover her now growing teeth. 

“Your aim needs work,” Draco spat, shooting of a silent body bind spell that made Nott fall backwards into Crabbe’s arms. Draco turned to guide Hermione to the Hospital Wing to have her teeth dealt with when Crabbe and Goyle began to shoot spells left and right. Draco threw himself at Hermione, knocking her into the wall as jets of light flew left and right. The lumbering dolts didn’t hit either of them, but they did alert a perfect. The perfect yelled and screamed at the three Slytherins, ignored Draco as he silently ended the body bind curse on Nott, and sent Hermione off to the Hospital Wing. 

“He did something to Theo!” Goyle shouted to the prefect as she deducted points from each of the boys.

“I did nothing to him,” Draco lied, making an innocent face. The prefect eyed Nott, who was holding his nose as it dripped red between his reedy fingers. “Okay, I did punch him in the nose. He called my friend a rather rude name.”

Draco met the eyes of the prefect, who he was pretty sure was a Muggleborn. Judging by her next words, he’d figured correctly. She ended up only taking five points from Draco for punching Nott, while Nott, Goyle and Crabbe all wound up getting detention.

Smirking, Draco headed off to the Hospital Wing to see how Hermione was doing. 


	14. Becoming Tabloid Fodder

**Disclaimer: Parts heavily influenced by** **_Goblet of Fire_ by JKR. If you know it, I do not own it.**

* * *

Harry was in Double Potions when it happened: the outside world caught up with Hogwarts. Harry had been trying to make himself appear as small as possible under Snape’s dark gaze when— of all people— Colin Creevey burst into the classroom to inform Professor Snape Harry’s presence was required elsewhere.

“Potter has another hour of Potions to complete,” Snape coldly said to the smiling Colin who failed to stop beaming and radiating giddiness. “He will come upstairs when this class is finished.”

“Sir, Mr Bagman wants him now,” Colin said, still bouncing with up and down. 

Was Colin on drugs or something? How could he continue smiling and beaming under Snape’s cold glare?

“Harry!” Draco hissed, causing Harry to glance over at Draco who was across the room with Neville. The moment Draco had Harry’s attention, he shot a paper airplane at Harry. It landed in his hair. Fishing it out, he read: 

_Beware of Rita Skeeter, reporter. Say as little as possible if she’s present. PS. She’s a beetle._

Confused, Harry looked up only to find Snape sneering at him.

“Potter, you are to go upstairs. Your public awaits,” he spat, glaring at Harry with hate filled eyes. Harry shrunk backwards, not sure what he’d done to have that look directed at him. Usually, Snape ignored Harry’s existence, which was fine with Harry. “Take your bag and get out of my sight.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry squeaked, gathering his stuff and following after the bouncing, radiate Colin.

“It’s amazing, isn’t it, Harry?” Colin gushed once they exited the classroom, emanating with cheer and bouncing up and down, up and down. 

“Sure,” Harry grumbled. “What’s going on?”

“I think they want to take your photo! Mr Bagman said they were going to take photos of the champions! Isn’t this exciting!”

“Great. Just peachy,” Harry said dully. “Exactly what I always wanted.”

Colin babbled continuously throughout the trip to the random classroom on the fifth floor. He pointed at the right door and shouted (even though he was right next to Harry), “Good luck!” 

“Er, thanks,” Harry mumbled. He waited until Colin headed off to approach the door. He stood staring at it for about five minutes before he finally got up the courage to open it. Harry was greeted by the sight of a fairly small classroom with the desks all pushed against the walls, leaving space in the center where a fancy table and chairs was set up. There was a fireplace along one wall containing a roaring fire. Next to it were four rather fancy looking chairs, two which were filled by people Harry knew (Bagman and Fleur) and one filled with a witch Harry had never seen before. She had tight blonde curls and was wearing magenta robes. 

Harry stepped into the room and shut the door, gulping. Bagman stopped talking to the woman and boomed, “Ah, here he is! Campion Number Four!”

Harry glanced around again while Bagman closed in on him. Viktor Krum brooding by the window in the shadows and Cedric standing near Fleur, who was looking a great deal happier than the last time Harry had seen her. (She was honestly frightening when she was unhappy.) Fleur had been chatting up Cedric and turning on the charm if the dazed look on his face was anything to go by.

“In you come, Harry, in you come!” Bagman encouraged, bounding up to Harry and dragging him further into the room. “Nothing to worry about, it’s just the wand weighing ceremony, the rest of the judges will be here in a moment.”

“Wand weighing?” Harry faintly asked.

“We have to check that your wands are fully functional, no problems, you know, as they’re the most important tool in the tasks ahead,” Bagman explained, squeezing Harry’s shoulder. “The expert’s upstairs talking to Dumbledore now. And then there’s going to be a little photo shoot. This is Rita Skeeter.”

Bagman gestured to the blonde witch in magenta robes. Harry stiffened, eyeing the woman in a different light.  

“She’s doing a small piece on the tournament for the _Daily Prophet_ ,” Bagman went on.

“Maybe not _that_ small,” Rita Skeeter simpered, staring Harry and making his skin itch. He shifted to shield himself with some of Bagmen’s girth.

Now that she had her full attention on him, Harry was able fully take in Rita Skeeter. Her curls were elaborate and rigid, which contrasted oddly with her heavy-jawed face. She wore rather flashy spectacles that were the same color as her robes. Her thick fingers were clutching a violent green crocodile-skin handbags, which showed off her crimson painted nails wonderfully. The only thing Harry thought looked remotely bug like on here were here eyes, which were beady and bulging a little as she seemed to eat Harry up. 

Harry took a step sideways, only to have Bagman grab him by the shoulder and move him front and center again. 

“I wonder if I could have a little word with Harry before we start?” she asked, watching Harry like he was prey and she the hunter. “The youngest champion, you know…to add a bit of color.”

“No!” Harry shouted at the same time Bagman said, “Certainly.”

Everyone now stared at Harry.

“I’m not allowed to speak to reporters,” Harry lied. 

Skeeter raised an eyebrow. “Of course you are.”

“No. I’m really not. My godfather told me I wasn’t to speak to any reporters unless they were cleared through him.”

This was a complete lie. He’d of course written to Sirius and told him he was stuck competing in the stupid tournament. Sirius and Aunt Narcissa had a meeting with the headmaster after they’d gotten the letter and were told the same thing Harry had been informed: there was nothing to do except compete.

Basically, Harry was screwed. 

“He did, did he?” Skeeter said, narrowing her eyes. “Sirius Black’s your godfather, isn’t he?”

“I can neither confirm or deny that,” Harry said, parroting what he’d seen on the Muggle news when people didn’t want to give information. 

Skeeter’s eyes turned to slits and she gripped her bag tighter. 

“Oh, Harry, I think Sirius wouldn’t mind if you spoke to Rita,” Bagman cajoled, pushing Harry forward toward Skeeter.

Harry shook his head, looking around at the other champions. Krum was no longer broodily looking out the window, but watching Harry with a knowing look on his face. 

“He is vithin his right not to speak to her if he doesn’t vish to,” Krum said in a heavy accent. He took a few steps way from the window, hands clasped behind his back. “Especially if he’s been instructed not to speak vith the press.” 

“Are you going to speak to the rest of us?” Cedric asked. “I can talk to you.”

“I as well,” Fluer said, tossing her silvery blond hair over her shoulder and into Cedric’s face as she stood up.

Cedric didn’t seem to mind. 

“Of course I wish to speak to all of you,” Skeeter simpered, gripping her purse harder. She glared at Harry, before turning a charming smile toward Krum. “So—”

The door banged open and at least two people let out a breath of relief. 

“Dumbledore!” Skeeter cried, with every appearance of delight. “How are you? I hope you saw my piece over the summer about the International Confederation of Wizards’ Conference?”

“Enchantingly nasty,” Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling like mad. “I particularly enjoyed your description of me as an obsolete dingbat.”

Cedric gasped, but Skeeter didn’t look remotely abashed. 

Harry was starting to realize why Draco had suggested he beware of Skeeter.

“I was only making a point your ideas were somewhat a little old-fashioned, Dumbledore, and that many wizards on the street—”

“I will be delighted to hear the reasoning behind your rudeness, Rita, but at the moment we must begin the reason we have all gathered here this afternoon.”

Dumbledore smiled, turning his attention away from Skeeter. He swiftly managed to get Bagman to unhand Harry and gathered the champions around a velvet-covered table— where three of the five judges were now seated. Bagman took his seat next to Crouch, who looked bored out of his mind as usual. Skeeter settled in a corner and snapped her bag open, glaring daggers at Dumbledore’s back. 

“May I introduce Mr Ollivander,” Dumbledore offered, letting Harry go and leaving him to stand with the other champions. 

Who all loomed above him.

Even Fleur was taller than Harry. 

“Mademoiselle Delacour, could we have you first, please?” Mr Ollivander asked, stepping into the empty space in the middle of the room out of thin air. 

Mr Ollivander looked as Harry remembered him: creepy. 

Fleur swept across the room to where Oliveander stood and handed him her wand. He studied, turning it over in his hands, and humming every now and then. He twirled it between his long fingers like a baton and the wand issued a number of pink and gold sparks. 

“Interesting,” he muttered, holding it closer to his eyes. “Nine and a half inches…inflexible…rosewood…and containing…dear me…”

“An ‘air from ze ‘ead of a veela,” Fleur proudly announced. “One of my grandmuzzer’s.” 

Harry’s eyes widened at this statement, as that meant Fleur was part veela. No wonder Cedric had looked so dazed. Harry’s run-in with veela at the World Cup had taught him they were dangerous to most guys. Draco had almost fallen out of the Top Box when the mascot veela for the Bulgarian team had taken the field.

“Yes, yes, I’ve never used veela hair myself, of course. I find it makes for rather temperamental wands. However, to each his own, and if this suits you…” Ollivander trailed off as he muttered a spell and a bunch of flowers burst from the tip of the wand. “Very well, very well. It is in fine working order.”

Fleur took her wand back from Ollivander. 

“Mr Diggory, you next.”

Fleur glided back to her place in the line as Cedric stepped up to Ollivander. 

“Ah, now, this is one of mine, isn’t it?” Ollivander asked, then went on without waiting for Cedric to answer. “Yes, I remember it well. Containing a single hair from a particularly fine male unicorn…must have been seventeen years now; nearly gored me with his horn after I plucked his tail. Twelve and quarter inches…ash…pleasantly springy. It’s in fine condition. You treat it regularly?”

“Polished it last night,” Cedric grinned.

Harry pulled his wand out of his pocket and stared at it. It was covered in fingerprints. Taking a small step back to hide behind Krum, Harry tried to scrub the surface clean. Several gold sparks flew out the end, making Fleur give him a patronizing look.

Harry stopped trying to polish his wand at the last minute. He slumped his shoulders and stared at the ground. 

“Mr Krum, if you please.”

Krum shuffled forward and handed Ollivander his wand. He stood scowling, with his hands in his pockets of his robe as Ollivander looked over his wand. 

“This is a Gregorovitch creation, unless I’m much mistaken? A fine wandmaker, though the styling is never quite what I…however…”

Krum blankly looked at Ollivander as if he was speaking Greek rather than English. 

“Yes, hornbeam and dragon heartstring…rather thicker than one usually sees…quite rigid…ten and a quarter inches… _Avis_!” 

Birds flew out of the end of Krum’s wand and proceeded to fly circles around the judges table till they took off out the open window. 

Why was the window open?

“Good. Now, Mr Potter.”

Ollivander turned his silvery eyes towards Harry.  Harry trudged over to Ollivander, handing his wand over.

“Aaaaah, yes,” Ollivander said, his pale eyes gleaming. He didn’t seem to care that Harry failed to polish it regularly and it was covered in finger prints. “Yes, yes, yes. How I remember...”

Harry shifted uncomfortably, remembering what Ollivander was clearly remembering. The same bird that had given a feather for Harry’s wand had given only one other feather. This other feather just happened to in the wand Lord Voldemort used. The only people who were privy to this information other than Ollivander were Aunt Narcissa, Draco and Atlanta (if she even remembered). Harry trusted Draco and Narcissa (and Atlanta) to never mention to anyone he shared tail feathers with Voldemort.

Wow. That sounded wrong. 

Ollivander spent more time studying Harry’s wand than the others, but said nothing more on his wand other than that he remembered selling it to Harry. He didn’t even mention what the wand was made out of, simply shot a fountain of wine out of the tip then handed it back to Harry once he was done studying it. 

“Thank you all,” Dumbledore said, standing up from his spot at the judges table. “You may go back to your lessons now— or perhaps it would be quicker to simply go down to dinner.”

“Photos! Dumbledore, we need to take the photos!” Bagman shouted, leaping up. “All the judges and champions?”

Harry sighed.

* * *

Harry dragged himself down to dinner after a grueling hour long photo shoot, which he had a sinking feeling would give Rita Skeeter what she wanted, as Harry was almost always front and center in the pictures. Harry had tired to hide like Krum was doing, but he was always dragged forward. 

No one minded if the world famous Quidditch star wasn’t pictures, but Harry Potter the Boy-Who-Lived had to be front and center.

Bah.

“You look cranky,” Draco observed as Harry sunk down next to him. 

“Bullseye,” Harry grumped, filling his plate. “I told Skeeter I wasn’t allowed to speak with reporters because Sirius said so. Think I ought to make sure he’ll agree to that?”

Draco smirked. “I doubt he’ll mind. Hell, if you tell him it’s Skeeter, he’ll praise you for thinking of it. She didn’t have a nice word to say about him when he was pardoned by the Ministry.”

“Seriously?”

Draco snorted. “Yeah. She said all sorts of bad things about the Blacks and their ties to the MInistry, even though no one in the Ministry besides Madam Bones raised a finger to help Sirius out. And the Boneses and the Blacks aren’t exactly best friends.” 

Harry pressed his lips together, scooping potatoes onto his plate. “And the beetle thing?”

“She’s an illegal Animagi,” Draco replied, lowering his voice. “Last time, I passed…stuff onto her once she was banned from the grounds.”

Harry lit up. “She gets banned?”

Draco nodded. “After she published her story on the first task…which was more about Potter’s love life than the task.”

Harry made a face. “Love life?”

In Draco’s pocket, someone snorted. Harry stared at Draco’s pocket.

“What do you have in your pocket?”

“Tom.”

“Tom?” Harry echoed faintly. “Why is Tom in your pocket?”

“Atlanta gave him to me,” Draco explained. “After class was over she handed me his block saying he wanted to speak to you. I guess his head is sticking out.”

Draco looked somewhat perturbed about this while all Harry could do was stare wide eye at Draco’s pocket. 

“Put me on the floor. Under the table,” came Tom’s voice from Draco’s pocket.

Harry glanced around to see if anyone had noticed Draco’s chatty pocket, but everyone else was too busying enjoying dinner and pretending Harry didn’t exist to really notice the fact Draco’s pocket was speaking.

Draco reached into his pocket, pulled the block out and tossed it on the ground. The moment it hit the stone floor under the table, the grayish magic that Tom was made out misted out of the block and formed Tom, who sat on the floor with his legs crossed. 

“What was this ceremony you had to take part in?” Tom demanded from under the table.

Couldn’t they have this conversation somewhere else?

“Weighting of the wands,” Harry replied, looking at Draco so it didn’t look like Harry was talking to his feet. “Ollivander looked at all our wands to make sure they worked. They do.”

Draco put on his deep thinking face, his eyes going back and forth for a moment before he sat up straight.

“He didn’t…”

“No.”

Tom slapped Harry in the leg. Harry glowered, eyes shooting down towards Tom quickly before looking back at Draco.

“He didn’t say anything about my wand other than it worked,” Harry told Draco. “And then they took photos and Skeeter made me be front and center in all of them. Never mind we’ve got a world famous Quidditch player in the room! No! Let’s put the Boy-Who-Lived front and center! I hate my life.”

“You do not,” Tom and Draco said at the same time. 

“We need to practice,” Hermione said appearing out of nowhere and taking the seat across from them and putting her legs through Tom. She let out a squeak and looked under the table. “What are you doing?”

“Who are you talking to?”

Hermione jumped, turning to find Ginny standing behind her. Ginny took the empty seat next to Hermione, who stared wide eyed at the girl. Under the table, Tom went back into his block. Using his long legs, Draco kicked the block over to Harry, who ducked under the table and grabbed up the block.

“Got it!” he shouted, leaping up. “Nice to see you, Ginny!”

Ginny looked bewildered as Harry bolted.

* * *

“How on earth are you getting out of your cube on your own?” Harry demanded once he was safely in the Room of Requirement among centuries worth of rejected junk. “I thought someone had to physically touch the cube for you to come out? How were you in the cube but talking from Draco’s pocket?”

Tom gave Harry a tired look and sighed dramatically. 

“TOM!”

Tom ignored Harry in favor of staring at his nails. Harry, who was pretty much at the end of his rope, stormed across the open space between them and grabbed Tom’s upper arms, shaking the taller boy forcefully. 

“TELL ME!”

“Fine! Fine!” Tom said, looking surprised. Harry didn’t let go of Tom, but pulled him closer till they would have been nose to nose if Tom wasn’t so freaking tall. Tom’s dark blue eyes darted back and forth a moment before he started explaining. “I’ve gotten more control over…the magic or whatever makes me up. I’ve spent so much time with the cube or in the cube, I’ve gotten a degree of control. Now, I can hear and see what is going on while I’m in the cube by allowing a part of me out. Usually my ear, but sometimes my head.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I…well, I didn’t…it is a recent development.” 

“What does this mean?”

“I’m not sure. After Addy graduated from Hogwarts, I had no use for the cube until Atlanta brought me back to Hogwarts. If I had known I could have this greater control by simply spending more time with the block, I’d have Remus take me out in the last thirteen years.”

“So…does this mean you don’t need Atlanta in order to know what’s going on without being seen?” 

Tom looked a bit shifty, but shook his head back and forth, sending his hair into his dark eyes. “I still need her to go home to get the spell.”

Harry nodded, breaking eye contact finally. He stared at Tom’s badge claiming him to be a Slytherin Prefect that was eye level. His eyes traced the silver and green snake before he said quietly, “Okay.”

“And…if she is ever in battle, I ought to be with her.”

“Why?” Harry asked, tearing his eyes off the patch to look at Tom.

“I can’t perform any magic unless I’m with her,” Tom replied, looking uncomfortable. “And only if she lets me. It’d be best if I was with her while you battled the dark forces. That is the only way I can help you.”

“Dark forces? We’re calling them Nacro Munchers.”

Tom snorted, smirking a little.

“Who even came up with Death Eaters as a name? Was that you?”

“No. I was thinking of calling them Walpurgis Knights.”

“Nightmare Soliders?”

“Well, yes. They are the stuff of nightmares,” Tom admitted, eyes leaving Harry and staring at the ground. Tom shifted a bit under Harry’s hands, reminding Harry he still had a grip on the other boy. Harry quickly let go, taking a few steps backwards. 

“Does it make you mad that, uh, well, the guy running around with your body is evil?”

“He is not me, and I am not him,” Tom said tightly, balling his fists before glaring at Harry. 

Harry sighed. “I know. But it could have been you if you…well, you had Addy and all her friends.”

“I mostly had Addy.”

“You get along with Remus,” Harry pointed out.

Tom’s mouth tightened, but he didn’t reply. Harry sighed again. 

“I need to get Draco’s potion notes,” Harry announced, turning to pick up Tom’s block from where he’d thrown it upon entering the Room of Requirement.

“Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“Never mind.”

“Really?”

Tom nodded, staring blankly at a hutch that was missing door. Harry bit his lip, studying the other boy. “You can help me if you want.”

Tom drifted over towards Harry till he became solid upon reaching Harry, who had the block in his pocket. Tom wore an intense expression on his face that Harry felt had nothing to do with Potions. 

“Addy was working on a spell to make me solid,” Tom said, sounding as if he was far away and not in the present. Harry remained silent, waiting for Tom to continue as he looked between his two dark blue eyes. “She never showed it to me and kept it in a box which I cannot get into because she didn’t magic it so it’s solid to me. It was literally the only thing she did not imbue with her magic in that blasted flat. I’ve never been able to get into it, nor is Remus.”

“Have you asked Atlanta?”

“No. Her magic is much too different and she’s too young to figure out what Addy did to it.”

“Huh?”

There was a sadness in those blue depths Harry couldn’t fathom. They stared at one another for a long beat before Tom broke eye contact and stared at the floor.

“Atlanta’s magic is different from Addy’s. I’m made up of my own magic, Addy’s magic and bits of my soul. Or something. We were never sure on the whole soul aspect, but Addy was sure I have a soul.”

“Isn’t a soul…well, isn’t it something that makes you who you are?”

Tom nodded. “I am who I am.”

“You are.”

“Do ghosts have souls?” Tom inquired dryly. 

“You’re not a ghost, as you’re quick to point out.”

“But what I am?”

“You’re Tom,” Harry said stubbornly. “What does this mean? There’s a way to make you solid?”

Hope flared in his chest at the thought of Tom being an actual person and not whatever he was currently. 

Tom looked back up at Harry with his sad eyes, shook his head. He began to become more misty as he began to stream himself into Harry’s pocket. Before he completely vanished, he said, “Let us find Draco.”

Harry knew the conversation was over. 

For now. 


	15. Try, Try, Try Again

**Disclaimer: If you know it, I do not own it and it is likely from _Goblet of Fire_ by JKR.**

* * *

Harry was quiet and pensive the next few days during which Tom made no appearances. Finally, after two full days of thoughtful Harry, Draco asked, “What happened with Tom?”

“Nothing. I think the whole not being solid is getting to him,” Harry offered. “He…I’m not sure. He went all strange on me after I asked him how he was getting out of the block without help. I mean, before I always had to tap it or something. And he only came out fully formed.”

Draco nodded. 

“Well, now he can just pop his ear out and stuff. I’d say he’s evolving.”

“But…”

“I don’t know. He seemed pleased until he started thinking on it, I guess,” Harry admitted. “Oh, and I guess Addy was working on a spell to make him solid, but she put it in a box that he can’t open, nor can Remus. And Atlanta can’t because her magic’s too different. I think he’s realizing he’s stuck as he is forever.”

“And that’s news because…?”

Harry shrugged. “I don’t know. He requested to be given to Atlanta, so he’s been with her for the past two days.”

Draco nodded. 

“Are we going to do summon charms tonight?”

“Of course,” Draco agreed. 

“Did you see it?” Hermione asked, appearing out of nowhere in front of the boys. 

“Where on Earth did you come from?” Draco demanded. “I know you don’t have a Time Turner any longer, darling.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “I missed you two at lunch, so I didn’t have a chance to ask.”

“Ask what?”

Instead of telling the boys, she showed them. She pulled out  a copy of _The Daily Prophet_ from her bag. Harry groaned, hiding his face between his hands while Draco frowned.

“I didn’t read anything this morning in the paper,” Draco realized. “It should have appeared this morning.”

“It’s running in tomorrow’s paper,” Hermione said.

“How’d you get tomorrow’s paper?” Harry asked, face flying out of his hands to stare at Hermione in bewilderment. 

“Turns out DeVinette gets advance copies to okay a story that mentions himself,” Hermione said. “Mr Lupin sent it to Atlanta and she handed to me when she couldn’t find you two.”

Harry grabbed the paper, flipping through it.

“You’re on the cover, Harry,” Hermione said, frowning as Harry tore through the paper.

“Where’s the DeVinette story?”

“Oh, uh, it’s on page six,” Hermione said. “There’s a book review on the Slytherin journals, as the second book is coming out in a few days, correct?”

“Oh, yeah…” Draco trailed off, watching as Harry greedily read the story. 

“I wonder if that image is true,” Hermione mused eyeing the upside down image of TR DeVinette. 

“It is,” Harry muttered. “He created a spell to age images and aged an old photograph of himself.”

“Ah, no wonder he looks so cheerful,” Draco drawled, eyeing the almost scowling image glaring out at them. It was a wonder anyone had found DeVinette attractive if this was the image he was peddling to the public. 

Harry folded up the paper and handed it back to Hermione, who looked confused.

“Oh, I thought you’d give it to him.”

“Atlanta has him,” Harry said. “Later.”

Harry turned around and vanished around the corner. 

“HARRY!” Draco shouted, but Harry failed to reappear. Draco sighed, turning back to Hermione. “They’re really releasing the second journal?”

Hermione nodded, folding the paper up and putting it back in her bag. 

“Uh, could I see the story on Harry?”

“Oh! Yes, of course.”

Hermione got the paper out and handed it to Draco. Draco skimmed the article and sighed. 

“Rotten woman, isn’t she?”

“Yes. Just as I remember,” Draco sighed. “Granted, this time it’s not funny.”

“I love how she completely failed to capture Harry’s personality,” Hermione groused. “Spoiled, up tight brat?”

“Well, he did refuse to speak to her,” Draco pointed out. “Doubt that made her happy.”

Hermione tutted. 

“At least it doesn’t prattle on about his love life,” Draco offered. “And doesn’t paint him as a tragic, little hero.”

“No, just a prat,” Hermione huffed. “Honestly.”

“I have a feeling the story won’t run,” Draco said, smirking. “I’m going to speak to DeVinette.”

* * *

“Atlanta, I need to get a message to DeVinette,” Draco said when he corned the girl after dinner. 

She cocked her head to the side. “Oh?”

“Yes. You see, I read something that didn’t please me in the least,” Draco said, getting the copy of tomorrow’s _Prophet_ out of his bag. He held it up to display to Atlanta the front page with the uncomfortably large photo of Harry and no one else. 

“I doubt he’s got sway over that—” Atlanta ceased talking and made a face. “Oh. Well, all right. Give it here. I’ll see he does something about it. Not sure how he missed that when we looked when it arrived.”

Draco shrugged. 

“Though, Dad did have it folded to the section where DeVinette was dealt with…” Atlanta trailed off, taking the paper and folding it up to stick in her bag.

“And you gave it to Hermione because?”

“For Harry to see the article about the journals. It was a favorable review, unlike the last one,” Atlanta explained. “I’ll see…to this.”

* * *

The next morning there was a completely different story on the front page. It was not written by Rita Skeeter and the photograph was of all the champions and the judges, not just Harry looking uncomfortable (it included an awkward Harry and Viktor Krum). Draco searched the paper for a story by Skeeter but found none. It seemed the paper had pulled anything written by Skeeter. Draco, though, wasn’t fool enough to think she would shut up and go away. No, she’d find someone else to publish her tall tales.

* * *

“Come on, Harry!” Tom shouted, pulling at his hair. “Focus!”

“I CAN’T!”

“PLEASE!”

Harry blinked, looking at Tom as if he was speaking Gobbledegook. 

“Please, Harry,” Tom begged, letting go of his hair. It looked crazy for maybe a second before it went back to looking as it always did: utterly perfect.

Damn Tom Sodding Riddle.

“I’m trying, Tom,” Harry insisted. “I…”

“Focus,” Draco reminded Harry. “You need to focus, Harry. That’s why we’re here. You’ve got a week to get this spell mastered.”

“I know,” Harry whined. “I wanted to go to Hogsmeade.”

“Harry,” Tom scolded, narrowing his eyes. “You cannot go anywhere until you summon that broom.”

Harry made a face at Tom, but turned back towards the direction of the broom in the Room of Requirement where the three boys had spent the morning trying to summon the Cleansweep 2. 

“ _Accio_ Cleansweep 2!” 

Nothing happened.

Harry threw his wand. It clattered across the floor and rolled under a dresser. Tom made a noise of frustration and vanished into thin air.

“Uh, where’d Tom go?”

“I don’t care,” Harry grumbled, falling to the ground and trying to get his wand. 

The door opened and closed. Harry stopped moving and Draco quickly moved to hide behind a shoddy bookcase. 

“Draco! Harry!” Hermione’s voice called out. “I’ve got Honeydukes chocolate!”

Harry shot to his feet and scampered off in the direction of Hermione’s voice. A minute later Harry reappeared with Hermione, who had a rather large bag from Honeydukes swinging next to her side. 

“So, any progress?” she asked as Harry stuffed his face with sweets. 

“No. Well, unless you count Tom vanishing into thin air.”

Hermione frowned. “He doesn’t do that.”

“I know.”

“That’s not good.”

“He’s fine,” Harry assured between bites.

“Are you sure?”

Harry nodded. 

“Did he use up all his energy or something?” Draco tried. He had no clue how Tom worked, operated, or existed. It was all very confusing and he’d stopped trying to figure it out. 

“Uh, no. Since he’s gotten more control over…his magical makeup, when he gets really…frustrated or mad…he tends to vanish for some reason.”

Hermione raised her eyebrows. “Does he often get mad at you?”

Harry cheeks tinted light pink. “Recently? Yeah. It’s not my fault! I don’t want to do this!”

“That’s your problem, Harry!” Hermione cried. “You’ve put a block in your head!”

“I don’t have a block head!”

“No, I mean you’ve built a wall against getting the charm to work for you!”

“Well, how do I remove it?” Harry asked, frowning. 

“That, I don’t know.”

“Potter was able to do the charm,” Draco pointed out. “If Potter can, you can. You’re a better wizard than Potter was at this age.”

“I am? How do you even know? You didn’t know Potter.”

“I had class with Potter,” Draco reminded Harry. “He wasn’t a very good wizard. He didn’t try. I know you get better marks than Potter and I know you do better in Potions than Potter could dream of.”

Draco didn’t mention it was likely due to the fact Snape didn’t act as nasty towards Harry this time around. Snape mostly ignored the fact Harry existed, and Draco by association. While that (his being ignored, not Harry’s) had bothered Draco first year, he’d learned it was how things were going to be since he’d landed himself in Gryffindor. 

There was a loud popping noise and Tom reappeared. He looked around, a little bewildered.

“Hi,” Harry said. “You need to work on your anger management if you want to stop doing that.”

“I’ve never had this problem before,” Tom muttered darkly. “And I’ve been more infuriated.”

“At?”

“Your godfather for starters,” Tom grumbled, folding his arms across his chest. “Well? Did you do it?”

“Uh, no. I ate some chocolate.”

Tom’s nostrils flared a little. 

“Keep calm. Let’s try this one more time then we’ll go down and have tea,” Hermione placated.

Tom glared at her. Hermione gave him a firm look and he turned away to glare at Harry. 

“Tea sounds good,” Harry said, “but, uh, I gotta get my wand out from under here.”

Harry fell to the floor, pressing his ear to the floor to see if he could get at his wand that was still hiding under the dresser. Draco silently summoned Harry’s wand to him. It flew out from under the dresser and into Draco’s hand. Harry looked at Draco, a hard glint in his eyes at the sight of his wand in Draco’s hand. 

“Here. Now you try.” 

* * *

After another hour of trying, Harry managed to move the broom. Or at least they figured the crash that sounded after Harry cast the spell was the broom moving and not something else. 

* * *

The next morning, Harry showed up at breakfast looking as if Oliver Wood had dragged him off for an early morning Quidditch practice. 

“What’s with you?”

“Hagrid showed me the dragons,” Harry whispered. “They are real. They brought dragons here. They’re in the forest.”

“Do you want to try the charm this afternoon?”

Harry nodded. “I also learned Moody can see through Invisibility Cloaks.”

“He can?” Draco squeaked, eyes flying to the head table where the said teacher was eating his breakfast. 

“Yup. He caught me out of bed last night when I was coming back,” Harry admitted. “He let it slide because it’s tradition to cheat and figured that’s what was going on. Oh, bugger, I have to tell Cedric, don’t I?” 

“Yeah. No one is going to tell him if you don’t,” Draco reminded Harry. Sighing, Harry looked around the Great Hall for Diggory, but didn’t find him. Harry excused himself and walked out without bothering to eat. Draco grabbed a few slices of toast, wrapped them up, and hurried after Harry. 

They only had three more days to get the charm down before the first task. 

Draco felt something cold settle in his stomach as he looked around for Harry. He spotted Harry heading out the doors and followed. Draco caught up to Harry as the Green Eye Menace sent a spell at Diggory’s bag and it spilt open. Draco hung back while Harry did his thing and told the Hufflepuff about the dragons. Draco was sure when Harry had, as the color drained from Diggory’s face and he looked like he was going to be sick. 

Draco was about to walk and meet Harry to drag him off to for some more practice, when Nott’s voice rang across the courtyard. 

“So, Potter, we’re all hoping you die during this first task,” Nott taunted.

“Yeah, sure,” Harry grumbled, rolling his eyes and stomping off. “I’ll get right on that.” 

In a flash, Not drew his wand. He looked utterly livid for some reason. Draco’s eyes went large as he realized Nott was about the hex Harry for no good reason. 

Why? Because Harry had failed to react to his taunt? Just agreed with him and turned around to trudge off? Or was Time behind this? 

Stupid Time. 

Before Draco could do anything to help out Harry, a spell shot out of Nott’s wand. He missed Harry by a mile (Nott was a really bad shot). Harry ducked, though, as the tree branch over his head exploded in a shower of slithers. Harry whirled around, eyes wide. Draco got his wand into his hand, but didn’t have a chance to do anything before there was a light brown ferret where Nott used to stand.

“Seriously?” Draco faintly asked, seeing the ferret scurry around before it began bouncing through the air while Goyle and Crabbe both flayed uselessly nearby in their attempts to get away from the bouncing ferret. 

“Now, that’s not very nice,” Moody said, appearing out of the shadows. His wand twitched and the ferret flew into Goyle’s face. “You do not hex a man when he back is turned. Do you have no honor, boy?”

The ferret flew away from Goyle as he fell backwards over a low wall and at Crabbe, who scrambled to get away. The ferret was spitting it was so irate. 

“Professor Moody!” McGonagall shouted, storming into the courtyard. 

Draco grabbed the giggling Harry and hauled him out of the courtyard and back into the school.

“Did you see that? That was awesome!”

“No, it wasn’t,” Draco said, his voice a little high pitched. “You’re not supposed to use transfiguration as a punishment.”

“Yeah, but he tired to blow off my head,” Harry pointed out. “I’ve got bits of tree in my hair.”

To prove his point, Harry shook out his head, sending bits of splintered tree all over the place. 

“Moody turned me into a ferret last time,” Draco hissed, dragging Harry up the stairs. “It still gives me nightmares.”

Harry snorted. “Did you try to hex Potter when he back was turned?”

“Yes.”

“Well?”

“I hate ferrets,” Draco muttered. 

Harry snorted. Draco stomped off ahead of Harry. 

* * *

“You have till tomorrow afternoon to get this right,” Hermione said when they gathered in the Room of Requirements that evening. “You need to get that broom to you.”

“I’ve got your Firebolt,” Draco said. “Why don’t I go hide it and you can try to summon it?”

“Oh, good thinking,” Hermione said. “Maybe it is the broom?”

Harry sighed, but said nothing.

Draco mounted the broom and flew off. He flew about ten minutes before he landed and set the broom down in a pile of junk. He summoned a different broom to himself, made sure it worked, then took off for where he’d left Hermione and Harry.

“All right, Harry, just picture your broom.” 

Harry screwed his eyes shut and made a face. 

“ _Accio_ Firebolt!” Harry shouted.

There was a loud crash from the direction Draco had put the broom. Hermione held her breath, as did Draco. They waited maybe a minute before the Firebolt zoomed into the clearing they were standing in and right into Harry’s open hand. Harry stare at the broom, a shocked expression painting his features.

“I did it,” he said faintly. He looked at Draco and Hermione. “I did it!”

“Do it again! Summon something else!” Hermione encouraged.

Two hours later, Harry was standing in a pile of junk, all of which he’d summoned to himself. 

“Thank god,” Hermione said as the trio made their way back to their towers before curfew. 

“Think I’ll be able to do it tomorrow?” Harry asked worriedly. 

“Yes. I’ll put the broom by the window and leave it open. Wouldn’t want your broom breaking the window in its attempt to get to you,” Draco drawled. “I believe the place where they set the dragons up for the task is right in front of Gryffindor Tower anyhow, so it won’t be as far as it was the first time you summoned it.”

Harry nodded, but looked a little green.

* * *

Harry was still green the following morning. Draco was sure he wasn’t going to obtain anything from the morning’s lessons. While most of the school’s population wasn’t paying a lick of attention because they were excited for the afternoon’s festivities, Harry was clearly not paying attention due to blind panic. 

After lessons stopped for the day, Atlanta appeared and handed Draco Tom’s block and vanished without a word. Draco, who had enjoyed the last few Tom free days, put the block in his pocket and joined the crowds heading towards the stadium. He managed to snag a seat at the very back and in the upper corner, so he could let Tom out. Or simply sit there talking to himself unnoticed. 

“Tom? Why didn’t you just stay with Atlanta?” Draco hissed out of the corner of his mouth. “Can’t you see out of her eyes or something when you’re in her arm?”

Tom appeared out of Draco’s pocket and sat in the space empty between Draco and the side wall. Draco kept the block in his pocket, just in case Tom needed to sink down into the bench again, though, in the daylight Tom was almost transparent. He lacked the pearly sheen ghosts had in the daylight, so Draco figured no one would notice him. Tom already seemed to know this, seemingly unsurprised about the lack of people noticing the ghost-thing pouring himself out of Draco’s pocket and into the stands. 

“Atlanta was tired of my commentary,” Tom stiffly admitted. “This is less then…”

“Yeah, I know. You’re hard to see,” Draco admitted, eyes squinting in order to make Tom out in the sunlight. 

“I know,” Tom agreed, smirking faintly. “The sunlight has always rendered me somewhat transparaent.”

“Yes, I noticed,” Draco drawled.

“Who are you talking to?” Hermione asked, sitting down on top of Tom. She shirked and leapt to her feet. “What the…”

“You sat on Tom,” Draco said, trying hard not to laugh. “Here sit, on this side.”

Draco slid closer to the end, leaving enough space for the skinny Tom Riddle. Hermione waited a moment before she sat down again, staring at the blank space between the end of the stands and Draco.

“I didn’t see you. Sorry,” Hermione apologized. 

Tom grunted. 

“Daylight,” Draco said in answer to Hermione’s unasked question. “Renders him more see through than usual if you’re not looking for him.” 

Tom huffed.  

“Did you see Harry just now?” Hermione asked, turning her full attention to Draco.

Draco shook his head. “Harry was channeling a zombie this morning. I figured he was still working that angle.”

“He still is,” Hermione said, looking at Draco sideways. “He’s a right mess. The others, though, are as well. I guess they all know, just as you said they would.”

Draco nodded.

“Tradition,” Tom offered.

“Can you see?” Hermione inquired, peering at the empty space on Draco’s other side.

“Yes.”

A whistle sounded and Bagman appeared out of a tent on the other side of the arena. Hermione knotted her hands together in her lap. Draco reached over and placed his hand on top of hers. He felt some of the tension leave her, but she kept her hands knotted together. 

“All right!” Bagman’s voice boomed. “The champions have all chosen what they must face and we’re about to begin the first task!”

The crowd cheered.

Bagmen went on to explain the champions would all be facing a different dragon and their goal was to get a golden egg from a nest of dragon eggs. The entire crowd gasped as the first dragon was brought out as Bagman spoke. 

“It’s seriously a dragon,” Hermione faintly said as the handlers secured the dragon so it couldn’t fly off. 

“And Cedric Diggory of Hogwarts shall be first!” Bagman boomed.

There was another whistle and Diggory appeared in the arena. He was facing a Swedish Short-Snout. Draco, having seen this all before, only half paid attention as Diggory transfigured a rock into a dog and tried his best to get passed the dragon. He wound up, just like last time, getting half his face burned in his attempt to get the egg.

It took Cedric a total of twenty minutes to get to the egg and the moment he did, the crowd roared while Tom scoffed rather loudly. Hermione eyed the empty space containing Tom and glanced at Draco. 

“I thought that was rather clever,” she said, frowning a little. 

“Of course,” Draco and Tom answered in two completely different tones.

“Harry will be last, won’t he?” Tom grumped rather loudly.

“More than likely,” Draco agreed, trying to keep his voice low to hint to Tom he was being a little loud. “He was last time.”

In front of them, Dean Thomas turned around and looked somewhat confused. “Who are you talking to?”

“Ourselves,” Draco responded. 

Thomas didn’t look so convinced, but he turned back around. Draco glared at Tom and hissed for him to be quiet.

“I am quiet.”

“No, you’re really not,” Hermione muttered. 

“One down, three to go!” Bagman yelled as the whistle blew. “Miss Delacour, if you please!”

Tom scoffed several times, getting louder throughout Fleur’s attempt to get the egg. Fleur tried to charm the dragon and like last time, it failed miserably. She tried again and again, till she finally gave up trying to do whatever she was doing and tried to summon the egg to her. 

That did not work.

“She is trying to confound it,” Tom grumbled. “Her aim is off.”

Thomas once more looked over his shoulder, eyeing the space Tom occupied. 

“I’m learning to throw my voice,” Draco lied. 

“Sure thing, Draco,” Thomas muttered, turning back around as the crowd gasped. 

Delacour went back to trying to Confound the dragon after whatever she’d done to cause the gasp and seemed to finally get a good shot, as the dragon stopped paying attention to her and she darted into the nest and grabbed the egg. This got the dragon’s attention, though, and the dragon wound up smashing all the eggs. 

Hermione looked scandalized. 

“Well, that will take some points off,” was all Bagman had to say before the points were shown. The whistle sounded for a third time and Krum appeared. “And here is Mr Krum!”

Draco scanned the crowd during Krum’s turn. The panel of judges were all keenly watching, except for Crouch who as always looked totally bored off his rocker.

“What’s up with Crouch?” Draco asked.

“He always looks like that,” Tom drawled. Draco glared at him. “I’ll be quieter.” 

“He’s not paying any attention,” Hermione realized, looking alarmed. 

She was right. Crouch wasn’t even looking at what Krum was doing, but in fact staring at something in his lap. He held out his hand and suddenly Percy Weasley appeared and handed him a file folder.

“He’s working?” Hermione asked, indignantly. 

Tom snorted. 

“That’s some nerve he’s showing— and— yes, he’s got the egg!” Bagman shouted. 

Crouch looked up, stared at Krum, the dragon, and then back at Krum before holding up his score card. He gave Krum an eight. 

Draco had no clue how Crouch had judged the first time around, so he didn’t know if it was different this time than last time. He didn’t remember if Crouch had worked through judging or not last time. He hadn’t cared.  

“And now, our last champion! Harry Potter!”

The Gryffindors all hollered, while the rest of the school booed. The badges all flashed and Hermione tutted. Even though in the sunlight Draco couldn’t exactly see Tom fully, Draco could feel Tom’s anger radiating off of him. 

“He’ll be fine. He’ll show them,” Draco whispered as the crowd quieted as Harry stood just outside the tent, looking tiny and way to small to be down there. 

Draco glanced over to the other side where the Hungarian Horntail was guarding her nest, not looking pleased with her new location. 

“So, what will our youngest champion do?” Bagman asked.

Harry visibly gulped, raising his wand and shouted, “ _Accio Firebolt!”_

Draco looked towards the tower where their dormitory was located and saw the broom zoom out of the window and head for Harry. Hermione let out a sigh, gripping Draco’s arm hard. Harry grabbed the broom out of the air as the dragon finally noticed the tiny Harry Potter. Before the dragon could get at Harry, though, he took off into the air, flying higher than the dragon was willing to venture away from her nest. Harry noticed the fact the dragon was trying to get at him. He took to flying patterns over the dragon, trying to get her away from the nest so he could dive down and take the golden egg.

Just as Potter had done.

The dragon didn’t venture too far, but like last time, she finally took to the air to get at Harry and he dove quickly, snatching the golden egg up and getting the hell out of there before she knew what was happening.

“Look at that! Will you look at that!” Bagman boomed. “Our youngest champion is the quickest to get his egg! Well, this is going to shorten the odds on Mr Potter!”

The dragon keepers rushed in to deal with the Horntail. Harry landed on the other side, near where McGonagall, Moody, and Hagrid were all eagerly awaiting Harry to lead him away and back into the tent with the other champions. 

“Crouch paid attention to Harry,” Tom said in a flat tone, not needing to be quiet due to the noise of the crowd all around them. “He didn’t pay any attention to the others, but he watched Harry.”

“Maybe because Harry’s the youngest?” Hermione offered, leaning across Draco to hear Tom.

“Or he’s interested to know why he was entered,” Draco suggested. 

Tom didn’t reply.

The three waited for the scores. 

“What did Potter get?” Tom demanded. 

“Uh, pretty good scores?” Draco offered. “I was mad. I don’t remember.”

Dumbledore gave Harry a ten, Bagman a ten, Karkaroff a four, Maxime a nine, and Crouch gave Harry a ten. 

“Shouldn’t he have gotten a perfect score?” Tom drawled. “He did it in the shortest amount of time and came out unscathed.”

“Nor did he smash the other eggs,” Hermione pointed out, looking put out. 

“Correct. Delacour and Krum both smashed the other eggs in their attempts,” Tom said. “Harry should have gotten perfects from all the judges.”

He sounded pissed.

“Let’s go see him,” Draco suggested, choosing to ignore Tom. “He looked too shocked to actually take in his scores.” 

Draco felt Tom zoom into his block. He pried Hermione’s hand off his arm where it was still holding onto him in a death grip and hauled her to her feet. Together, they hurried through the crowds and dodged the exiting masses to make it to the champion’s tent. 


	16. After the Task

**Disclaimer: If you know it, I do not own it and it is likely from _Goblet of Fire_ by JKR.**

* * *

Draco let Hermione explain to Harry what the other three champions had done to get to their dragon’s eggs. She stressed the importance that neither Hogwarts student caused harm to innocent dragon eggs needlessly.

“Honestly,” Hermione huffed as Madam Pomfrey handed Harry a cup of Calming Drought.

“Take it,” Pomfrey insisted. “You’re still rather high strung for having done the best. Honestly. Dragons. What will they think of next?”

She hustled out of the tent, leaving the trio alone.

“Is, uh, Tom with Atlanta?” Harry asked staring into the cup of liquid, yet making no move to drink it.

“No,” Tom’s voice said from Draco’s pocket.

“Will you stop that?” Draco asked, looking down at his hip. “Everyone is going to wonder what is going on if you keep talking out of my pocket!”

“They’ll think you’re a ventriloquist,” Harry offered.

“A what?” Draco asked.

“A talking puppeteer,” Tom said, materializing next to Draco. “Did you see you failed to get a perfect score when you ought to have gotten a perfect score?”

Harry sighed. “I don’t care.”

“You need to be in the maze first!” Tom shouted. “AND DRINK THAT NOW.” 

Harry downed the cup in one go. 

If one of them needed a Calming Draught, it was more so Tom than Harry. 

“Tom, don’t get mad at Harry,” Hermione quietly said. “Calm down. Harry cannot control the judges. The two who didn’t give him the score he deserved were the ones from the other school. Cheating, remember?”

Tom huffed, but made a visible attempt to calm himself. 

“You are in first place,” Hermione told Harry. “You, then Krum, Diggory, then Delacour.”

Hermione smirked.

“Oh, good,” Harry said, smiling suddenly. “I like this stuff. Why didn’t you give this to me before?”

Harry jumped off the table.

And promptly stumbled into Tom.

“Because it makes you unstable on your feet,” Tom supplied, hefting Harry upright. Harry grinned stupidly and looped his arms around Tom’s middle and hugged him. “What are you doing?”

Tom’s arms were now awkwardly at his side and he looked completely at a loss. Draco snickered.

“Has he ever had Calming Draught before?” Tom asked, looking between Draco and Hermione. 

“I like you,” Harry announced, snuggling into Tom’s chest. “You smell good.” 

Draco wasn’t aware Tom had a scent. 

“We know, Harry, we know you like Tom, but you must let him go,” Hermione gently said, trying to pry Harry’s arms from around Tom. “I believe they want to talk to all the champions in the main tent.” Hermione struggled to get Harry to stop gripping Tom, but Harry hung on tighter. “Oh, what are we going to do?”

Draco shrugged, but moved to help Hermione remove Harry from Tom. 

“Harry, let Tom go. We need to leave and you know Tom can’t go with us in this form,” Hermione said, managing to get a good grip on Harry’s arm. With Draco’s help, they pried Harry off Tom, who instantly zoomed into Draco’s pocket the moment he was free.

“I like you too, Hermione!” Harry exclaimed and threw himself at her. She caught him, looking utterly bewildered. Harry didn’t cling to her like a limpid as he had Tom. After he was steady, he began to pat her on the head. “You’ve got great hair. It’s so fluffy!” 

“I don’t think she only gave him Calming Drought,” Draco muttered. “Even a strong does shouldn’t make him this…”

“Looney?” Hermione asked, trying to duck out from Harry’s hands. 

Draco grabbed Harry’s arm and towed the shorter boy out of the medical tent. After several very random distractions (one being a butterfly of all things), they managed to get Harry into the main tent where the others were gathered. Hermione gave an uncomfortable smile as the three older students all stared at them. 

“Hello. You all did very well,” Hermione said, trying to prevent Harry from reaching into Draco’s pocket.

“I want to tell Tom something,” Harry announced, making another go for Draco’s pocket. 

Draco dodged Harry. 

“Thank you,” Krum said, studying Hermione intently. 

Diggory had one side of his face covered covered in a thick orange paste. Fleur had her arm bandaged up while Krum had his leg all covered up in something that was faintly smoking. The three all watched Harry chase Draco around the tent.

“Harry, stop this,” Draco muttered. 

“Is he all right?” Diggory inquired, eyeing Harry made another leap for Draco.  

“Calming Drought,” Draco said, as Harry suddenly fell in a heap on the ground. “Harry!”

Harry managed to grab Draco’s pocket when he neared to check on the Mad Menace. One tug and Draco was on sprawled on the ground next to Harry, who began to speak into Draco’s pocket. 

“Stop that,” Draco said, trying to get away. 

“What?” Harry asked, standing up straight. “Tom—” 

“Is not here. He couldn’t make it,” Draco said, trying to convey to Harry now was not the time to talk about Tom.

“Who’s Tom?” Delacour asked. 

“His friend,” Hermione said, helping Draco get to his feet. Harry stayed on the ground, seeing something no one else could. “From, uh, home.” 

“Well done, all of you!” Bagman boomed, bouncing into the ten and looking as if he had personally trumped one of the dragons. “Now, just a quick few words! You’ve got a nice long break before the second task, which will take place at half past nine on the morning of February the twenty-fourth— but we’re giving you something to think about— Harry, are you alright?”

“I’m peachy!” Harry beamed, still on the ground. “Peaches. I haven’t had a peach in eons. Do you have peaches? I wonder if Tom would each a peach if he could? Tom!” 

Harry tolled over onto his stomach and made for Draco, who leapt behind Diggory. 

“Oh, no,” Madam Pomfrey’s voice sounded from somewhere behind them. 

“Well, fidle sticks.” Harry rolled back onto his back and beamed at the ceiling. “I’m the best,. No, not the best. Just best. No. That’s wrong too. I’ll show Marv, though. He won’t kill you.”

He rolled his head back a little and smiled at Diggory. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” Madam Pomfrey cried, rushing into the tent and somehow scooping Harry up off the floor. “Oh, dear.”

She rushed off with Harry before anyone could say anything.

“Vhat did she give him?” Krum asked. “That vas no Calming Drought.” 

“No, I think not,” Draco agreed, stepping out from behind Diggory. 

“Well, uh…” Bagman trailed off, looking unsure what to do.

“Tell us vhat you have to say,” Krum said. “Harry’s friends vill tell him.” 

Bagman appeared as if he wasn’t going to finish saying what he was going to say, but changed his mind and told the them there was a clue to the next task within the eggs liberated from the nests. Since Harry left his egg behind, Bagman handed it over to Draco, telling Draco that if Harry ever needed anything, anything at all, to let him know.

Draco and Hermione emerged from the tent after everyone else was gone to find Rita Skeeter standing there in acid green robes, her quill and pad ready. 

“Where’s Mr Potter? Hiding?” she asked, sounding somewhat bitter.

“No,” Hermione replied, breezing passed the woman.

“Are you his friend?” Skeeter asked before Draco could get passed her. “You look like a Malfoy.”

“I do! Wow,” Draco said, making his eye huge. “And here I thought I looked like an otter! Color me purple!”

Skeeter narrowed her eyes at Draco. 

“Why do you have that? Isn’t that for the champions?”

“Yes,” Draco replied. “I’m transporting it.”

Without another word, Draco moved passed Skeeter and hurried to catch up with Hermione, who was walking with Krum towards the school. She was rather red and Draco sped up to catch up, but didn’t make it due to the fact the stupid egg was rather heavy. 

“You know, you better ask her before he does,” Tom’s voice said from his pocket.

“Oh shut up, Thomas,” Draco snapped under his breath as he huffed up the hill towards the main entrance of the school. 

* * *

That evening, the Gryffindors all celebrated Harry’s victory— only without Harry who was still in the Hospital Wing. It seemed during her distraction at tutting the tournament’s use of dragons, Madam Pomfrey had given Harry a rather strong dose of Euphoria Elixir, which had rendered Harry in a state of total insanity. When the Weasley twins reappeared after sneaking in to see Harry, he was still steadily speaking to Tom— who was currently still in Draco’s pocket and not in the Hospital Wing with Harry.

“I cannot believe she gave him the wrong potion and an overdose at that,” Ginny commented as she sat next to Draco in the window seat watching the celebration, which had gone on without Harry. “It is not like her at all.”

“I know.” 

It worried Draco actually. Madam Pomfrey didn’t make mistakes like that. 

“So, who are you going to ask to the dance?” Ginny asked, her cheeks going a little red. “Hermione? That’s her name, right?”

“What?” Draco asked, feeling panicked. In his pocket, Tom snickered. Draco slapped his hand over his pocket, which caused Ginny to stare at him. “Yes, that’s her name.”

“Are you going to ask her or someone else?”

“I don’t know,” Draco sputtered. 

Ginny grinned and shook her head. “Well, I’d like to go. I hope someone asks me.”

“Ginny, it’s not attractive to fish,” Atlanta said, appearing in front of them. She elbowed Draco and Ginny till there was room for her between them. During this, she took the cube out of Draco’s pocket and slipped it into her own. Draco saw the magic ooze out of the block and into her arm. By the time she was seated, Draco couldn’t see the magic any longer and Ginny was too busy pouting to notice anything had happened other than Atlanta butting her way into the conversation. “I’m not going to the dance. I’m going home for the holidays.”

“You are? Why?” Ginny asked, looking at her friend like she was insane. 

“Dad worries,” Atlanta explained, looking aloof. “He didn’t really want me to come back to school, but he knows better than to think he could keep me locked up. Yet, since the whole tournament thing and Harry being entered, he’s anxious.”

“Altair would never target Harry,” Draco said without thinking.

Ginny took a sharp breath in. “Professor Lupin thinks…he might try something with the tournament as a distraction so he could, what, kidnap you? Even if…you’re not his…uh…” 

Ginny floundered for words to describe the situation, which even Draco did not fully comprehend. 

“No. Altair isn’t an idiot,” Atlanta said. “No. Dad’s worried what will come to be now that Harry’s in a death match.”

“Oh, come now, really? Who wants Harry dead?” Ginny asked.

“Voldemort.”

Ginny paled and sputtered.

“Who else would enter Harry in something that will likely lead to his death?”

“But he won! All on his own!” Ginny exclaimed. 

 _With help of a not ghost, Hermione and me_ , Draco thought a little bitterly. 

“Oh, I know this. Voldemort is famous for underestimating his enemies,” Atlanta replied. “I also must go home to change my last name formally.”

“What?”

“While when Dad signed the parchment taking me into custody, I technically shed my Black last name, but it hasn’t been fully done as of yet in all the legal senses it must, so I must go home.”

“So you’ll miss the dance?”

“Yes. Not that big of a loss. Teenage hormones and all that.”

Atlanta shuddered. 

“You’re a wet fish,” Ginny muttered, needlessly straightening her skirt. 

Atlanta stood up, wearing a rather evil looking smirk. “I have my sources that tell me Hermione will soon be asked by someone else to the dance.”

Draco stared at the tall girl. “You’re point?”

“You’ll need a date.”

Atlanta turned and pushed her way to the staircase leading to the girl’s dormitory, leaving Draco and Ginny sitting in uncomfortable silence till Fred and George set off a crate of fireworks. 

* * *

“I do not like Calming Drought.”

“It wasn’t Calming Drought.”

“Whatever it was, I didn’t like it.”

“Both work properly and are fine if you get the right dose,” Hermione assured Harry the next morning as he sat glowering at his breakfast. 

“How did she mess it up?” Harry asked, raking his hands through his messy hair. “How’d she give me too much and the wrong potion all together?” 

Harry helplessly looked between Draco and Hermione. 

“I don’t know,” Draco admitted. 

“She doesn’t either,” Harry said. “She swears she measured out the right amount and doesn’t remember even bringing the bottle of Euphoria Elixir, but then after I was in the other tent she realized she was holding a goblet way too large for me and it smelled all wrong.”

Harry rubbed his forehead and groaned. “Oh god. I talked to Tom in front of people.”

“Yeah…about that,” Draco drawled, trying really hard not to laugh. “Hermione said Tom was your friend from back home. And, well, the twins think he’s your imaginary friend.”

Harry groaned, dropping his head onto the table. 

“So, now you can talk all you want to Tom!”

Harry banged his head on the table. Hermione slapped Draco’s arm and gave him a scolding look. 

“So, what am I supposed to do with the egg? I found it on my bed when I went up to shower this morning,” Harry said, lifting his head up off the table.

“It’s a clue,” Draco said, sipping his coffee. “I don’t know what the egg is a clue to, though.”

“But…”

“We already know what the next task is,” Hermione whispered.

“Oh, yeah,” Harry mumbled. “Well, okay. So, how do we prepare?”

“We need to find Gillyweed,” Draco said, flipping the page in the paper to the story on the first task. 

It was not written by Skeeter.

Draco smirked.

* * *

Draco was sitting in Transfiguration when it finally happened: McGonagall formally announced the Yule Ball to her fourth year Gryffindors. (No matter the entire school was already buzzing about the dance.)  

“The Yule Ball is approaching— a traditional part of the Triwizard Tournament and an opportunity for us to socialize with our foreign guests. The ball will be open to everyone above fourth year, although you may invite a younger guest if you wish.”

Brown let out a rather shrill giggle, while Patil threw her face into her hands as she fought not to titter too loudly. They both peeked at Harry, who sunk into his chair and tried to melt into the floor. McGonagall ignored the pair of girls and pushed on.

“Dress robes will be worn and the ball will start at eight o’clock on Christmas Day, finishing at midnight in the Great Hall. Now, the Yule Ball is a chance for us all to…let our hair down,” she said, disapproval coloring her tone.

Brown giggled harder, her hand pressed to her mouth

“This does NOT mean that we will be relaxing the standards of behavior we expect from Hogwarts students,” McGongall went on, shooting a look at Brown. “I will be most seriously displeased if a Gryffindor student embarrasses the school in any manner.”

The bell rang and McGonagall requested Harry remain behind. Draco exited the room and stood around waiting for Harry. 

“I’ll go,” said a dreamy voice.

Draco startled and found Luna Lovegood standing at his elbow. She blinked her luminous eyes at him a few times before cocking her head to the side. 

“He knows, does he not? It’s all over your face,” Luna said, staring at the space around Draco’s head for some reason. 

“Excuse me?”

Luna looked back at him and smiled. “I read it in the dust.”

“The dust?”

Luna hummed as Harry came out looking white faced and panicked. Luna lit up.

“Ah, Harry!”

“Er, hello,” Harry said, staring at the girl. “McGonagall said I have to have a date. I have to dance. I don’t know how to dance! I have to open the dance by dancing! Oh god. This is worse than….Quirrellmort!”

“Harry, you know at least three people who can teach you to dance,” Luna offered. She began dancing by herself through the halls. “Meet me at eight under the clock. Bring along Tom and Draco. And stay away from mistletoe.” 

She vanished around the corner, leaving Harry looking confused.

“What just happened?”

“I’ve no idea,” Draco said. “At least Luna doesn’t think you’re mental for having an imaginary friend name Tom. She invited him along for dance lessons!” 

Harry sputtered incoherently. 

“I don’t understand the mistletoe warning, though,” Draco offered. 

* * *

Harry, Draco and Tom (in his block in Harry’s pocket and quite grumpy) turned up under the clock at eight to find a spinning Luna and very red Ginny. 

“Ah! You’re here! Did you avoid mistletoe? It’s infested with Nargals,” Luna said as way of greeting. “I invited Ginny, as she doesn’t know how to dance properly either. Let us go to the dance hall!”

Luna skipped off towards the stairs. Harry, clearly not wanting to do this, yet not seeing away out of the mess, turned on his heels and followed Luna.

“Do you know how to dance?” Ginny asked, her face still red.

“Yes.”

“Of course you do,” Ginny grumbled, hanging her head. 

Draco and Ginny did not catch up to Luna and Harry till they were outside the blank stretch of wall on the second floor near Myrtle’s toilet. 

“Er, Luna, where’s this dance hall?”

“Through here,” she simply said and walked through the wall.

“She went through the wall!” Harry cried. Luna’s arm snaked out and grabbed Harry, who grabbed the front of Draco’s robes to drag him in. Ginny seized Draco’s arm. The three ended up in a pile on the floor in a white room with tall ceilings and decorated with an old fashion record player. 

“Ah, you made it. Now, Tom might know this song. It’s from his era.”

“How’d you get in here?” Draco asked.

“Huh?” Harry asked, ears going red as he stuffed his hand into his pocket.

“It likes me, so it let me in,” Luna said, twirling around in circles as the music started. Draco had no clue what it was, but it wasn’t what one usually heard at balls. Luna grabbed Draco’s hand and spun him in a circle a few times till he was dizzy. 

“It didn’t look like this when I caught Percy and Oliver in here,” Ginny muttered. “Or maybe it did? I was…”

“Exactly,” Harry said hurriedly.

“Dance, dance, dance!” Luna encouraged, still trying to move Draco in some sort of odd series of movements. 

“Luna, I doubt they dance like that at balls,” Ginny grumbled, folding her arms across her chest. 

“No. They are boring. Harry, take Ginny’s hand and then put your other hand on her waist,” Luna instructed, coming to a stop.

The room was spinning. 

“Like this.”

Luna arranged Draco’s hands and arm in the proper way to waltz. 

“Easy box step,” Luna went on in a dreamy tone. “Count to four. One, two, three, four.”

Luna put them through the paces of the waltz a few times before letting go of Draco, who sunk to the ground. He watched Luna act serious for the first time ever as she taught Harry and Ginny how to dance. 

“That should get you two through the opening dance, which the champion must do on their own. So, now you know how to waltz!” Luna announced clapping. “Did Tom have fun?”

Luna was staring at Harry’s pocket.

“Er…”

“Who is Tom?” Ginny asked, cheeks pink. 

“My friend from home. He’s not, uh, here. It was the elixir. I don’t think I’ve got an imaginary friend.”

“He’s not imaginary,” Luna scoffed, flapping her hand at him. She threw her long braid over her shoulder and turned back to Draco. “He asked her this afternoon. You’ve missed your window.”

“What window?” Draco asked. 

Luna sighed. “That wasn’t in the dust. Anyways, I’ll go with you.”

“Huh?”

Harry burst out laughing. He was laughing so hard, he let go to Ginny and fell to his knees. 

“What’s so funny?” Luna inquired, honestly looking confused. 

“You rendered him speechless! He said ‘huh’ instead of ‘excuse me!’ I love it when that happens!”

“You’re an odd duck, Harry Potter,” Luna beamed at him. “Let’s try the dancing again.”

* * *

“Am I taking Ginny to the dance?” Harry asked after they were back in their dormitory and getting ready for bed.

“I believe so. You didn’t want to ask Cho, did you?”

Harry stared at Draco for a long beat and then shook his head. 

“You don’t like her any longer?” 

Harry stared blankly at Draco.

“It’s fine if you don’t,” Draco hurriedly said. “Ginny’s a nice girl.” 

Harry opened and closed his mouth a few times, but settled on keeping it shut. Draco quirked an eyebrow. 

“I…I…I don’t know,” Harry settled on saying. “I…where’s Tom?”

“In your pocket, Potter,” came a voice from Harry’s pocket. 

“What?” Harry shouted, falling off his bed for some reason. Draco sat up and peered over the edge. Harry was sprawled on the ground between their beds. 

“You asked where he was, Harry,” Draco reminded the  boy on the ground. “And he just told you.”

Tom magicked himself out of the cube, looking at Harry with a scowl on his face.

Harry handed the block to Tom, scrambled over his bed, and was out of the dormitory as fast as his legs would carry him, which was rather quick as Harry was fast. Draco debated on going after the strange boy, but looked at Tom, who was holding his block and looking baffled. 

“What just happened, Malfoy?”

“I don’t know,” Draco admitted. “Why do you look so mad?”

Tom did not answer, but zoomed into his block. It fell to the ground and bounced under Harry’s bed. Draco left it there and went to bed. 

* * *

The last week of term before holiday became increasing boisterous as rumors flew around about the Yule Ball. Flocks of girls had taken to trailing after Harry, who did his best to dodge them. Ginny, oddly, thought the trailing flock of girls was hilarious and didn’t bother to make it know she was going with the famous Harry Potter. 

“So, is it true the Weird Sisters are booked?” Hermione asked when she joined Draco in the Gryffindor Common room night before break was to begin. “I’ve heard they are good.”

“They were the entertainment last time,” Draco said. “So, Krum request your presence at the dance?”

Hermione turned red.

“I’m going with Luna, since you’ve not asked me if I’ve found a date.”

Hermione looked gobsmacked. “You are?”

“Yes. Something about dust,” Draco said. 

“Dust?”

Draco fiddled with the hem of his shirt. “Yes. It was written in the dust. Or something was. I’m not sure. Harry’s going with Ginny, even though neither asked one another. I think Ginny was hinting to go with me, but Luna…well, I’m not sure how it happened now that I’m thinking about it.”

“Oh, Draco,” Hermione sighed. “You’re hopeless.”

“Of course I am. I’m a teenage boy,” Draco snapped.

Hermione quirked an eyebrow a Ginny and Atlanta appeared and sat down across from them.

“So, you’ve got dates, then?” Atlanta asked. 

“Yes,” Ginny said. “Hermione, who are you going with?”

“Someone,” Hermione muttered, turning red again. “I don’t…”

“HEY!” Harry shouted, falling into the Common Room. The entire room went silent. He scrambled to his feet and raced over to the corner they were seated within. Once he was clearly not going to make a room wide announcement, the noise level increased. “Hey! Hey! Cedric just told me—”

Harry stopped short upon spotting Ginny and Atlanta. 

“That he’s got a date,” Harry lamely finished. “So, we’ve all got dates.”

Everyone stared at him. 

“Mistletoe is filled with Nargles,” Harry loudly announced. 

“Harry, did you drink another dose of Elixir of Euphoria?” Draco asked, wondering why Harry was behaving so bizarrely. 

“Or was it Whackspurts or whatever they are. What are they?”

Harry looked between everyone.  

“Wrackspurts,” Ginny supplied, looking a bit worried for Harry’s sanity. ( _Join the club_ , Draco thought.) “Those live around your head and invest your brain making you fuzzy. Nargles live in mistletoe. So, you were right.” 

Harry lowered himself into the chair next to Ginny and carried on a conversation about all the impossible things Luna believed in. Hermione rebutted a few of the claims Luna made while Draco occasionally entered the conversation, but he mostly listened, never really paying much attention to Luna the first time around to know much about her other than she was a little odd. 


	17. The Holiday Trappings

**Disclaimer: If you know it, I do not own it and it is likely from _Goblet of Fire_ by JKR.**

* * *

Christmas morning started early, but without the ground shaking from Earthquake Harry. This year Draco was woken by the noise of four other teenage boys waking to find presents at the ends of their beds. Sitting up slowly, Draco pulled his curtains open to find everyone else was up and half way through unwrapping their stashes.

“Wow, Drake, you sure can sleep through anything,” Finnigan commented, grinning like a manic. “Look!”

He had a broom. Draco gave what he hoped was a smile. Finnigan seemed to take it as such. 

“What does this do?” Harry asked, thrusting a penknife under Draco’s nose.

“Coffee,” was all Draco could think to say. 

Harry snickered. “Okay, mate. Open your presents.”

Draco groaned, wondering when it would be okay for him to sleep past eight on Christmas morning and drink coffee before opening presents. 

Draco unwrapped what was expected for the most part, till he reached an unknown parcel, which was lumpy and soft. Unwrapping it, he found a sweater in a blue so deep it was almost black.  

Who sent him a lumpy sweater? 

“Oh, look, you got one. I got a dragon this year,” Harry said, turning around to show off the green sweater with an image of a gold dragon on the front. 

Draco extracted the sweater from the wrapping and held it up in front of his face. He notice a note flutter to his bed. Picking it up he found Mrs Weasley wishing him a Happy Christmas. 

Mrs Weasley wished him a Happy Christmas? Was the world spinning backwards? 

“Oi! Once again, she thinks you know your name!” exclaimed one of the twins from the doorway. 

“Look! She gave Draco one this year!” the other exclaimed. 

They both looked somewhat confused. 

“Why?” they chimed together.

Draco shrugged. 

While the twins both stared at him(waiting for him to likely do something Malfoy-ish), Draco pulled the sweater over his head, causing his hair to stand up and crackle with static. The twins continued to look baffled till Draco smoothed down his hair and said, “It’s nice. I must write her a thank you.” 

This seemed to snap the twins out of their daze and they bounced over to where Harry was staring at a pair of really ugly mismatched socks and hauled him out of the room. At the last minute, one of the twins grabbed Draco, hauling him off the bed and out of the door before Draco had a chance to finish with his presents. 

* * *

The snow had remained untouched on the grounds— except where the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students had tramped through it towards the school. This called to the Weasley twins and they organized a snowball fight between the Weasleys (all of them still at school), Zabini, the two Slytherin girls who hung out with Weasley and Zabini, the Gryffindor Year Three boys, Hermione and Luna. (Not that Luna actually took part. She spent most of the fight chattering on about some sort of water nymph or something. Draco was pretty sure she was talking to Harry, but no one could tell.) 

At five o’clock Hermione, Ginny, and Luna all headed into the castle to get ready for the ball. (They Slytherin girls had vanished over an hour before this, unnoticed by everyone except Draco.) 

“You need three hours?” Weasley asked, looking incredulously at Hermione. 

He paid for his distraction by getting hit in the head with a rather well aimed Twin Thrown Snowball.

“Who are you going with!?” Weasley shouted after her. 

He got hit on the other side of the head with another Twin Thrown Snowball. 

“Stop that!”

“NO!” the pair shouted, throwing two more snowballs at their younger brother. 

Weasley finally hid behind his battlement instead of standing tall and being a target. “Does anyone know who she’s going with?”

Harry and Draco exchanged looks before grinning at one another. 

“I know she’s not going with Draco or Harry,” Weasley went on.

“SHUT UP RON!” one of the twins shouted. 

“I want to know?!”

“WHY?” everyone asked.

Crickets could be heard (if there had been any). 

“I’m not sure.”

Zabini scoffed. This was followed by a rather loud, high pitch squeal, and Weasley shooting to his feet again and trying to get snow out of his jumper. 

* * *

“So.”

“So?”

“Should I be nervous?”

“I don’t know. Should you be?” Draco asked, peering at Harry as they stood alone in the dormitory, the other boys all having gotten ready and gone to meet their dates. 

“I feel like I ought to be. This is the first social events that’ll I’m required to dance at and I’m going with a girl who had a raging, embarrassing crush on me last year.”

“And my date will wear radishes in her ears.” 

“I like Luna. She knows,” Harry said, turning around.

“She knows what?” Draco asked, frowning.

“Stuff,” Harry said doggedly. 

“Stuff. Yes, she knows plenty of stuff. I know Luna seems to know…things she shouldn’t, but what ‘stuff’ are you referring to?”

“Nothing,” Harry said, his voice going a little high. “So, I can’t wait for this to be over. When it’s over, we’ll be closer to the start of the new term and Tom will have the spell to figure out who entered me in the championship. Then, maybe…”

“Maybe what?”

“It can be over.”

“You are magically bound to compete.”

“But if we find the guy, then he won’t be able to hoax the cup and no one will die.”

“Yes, of course.”

“Oh, let’s go,” Harry groaned, uselessly trying to flatten his hair. 

Draco and Harry headed downstairs to the Common Room. Ginny was sitting near the fireplace in robes that were a creamy color of some sort and complimented her hair rather than clashed with it. She was fidgeting rather nervously. Harry eyed Draco, who motioned for Harry to go over and greet Ginny. Harry trudged over and the pair turned bright pink and stared at one another before Harry awkwardly offered his arm to Ginny. Ginny took it and allowed Harry to lead her over to Draco. 

“You look charming, Ginny,” Draco said, giving her a smile. 

She grimaced, turning scarlet. Harry, for some reason, also turned bright red. 

Draco eyed the awkward pair and sighed. “Loosen up, you two. It’s not the end of the world.”

Neither said anything.

“You both dance fine,” Draco tried, not sure what the problem was. 

“I’ve got two left feet,” Harry muttered.

“He does,” Ginny agreed. 

“Well, you only need to get through the opening number, then you can sit and stare at the others while they all step on each other’s feet,” Draco suggested. 

Harry seemed to like this idea, while Ginny looked rather blank. 

“Well, I’m meeting Luna in the Entrance Hall and they’ll likely want to gather the champions to make their entrance, shall we head down?”

“Come along, Harry,” Ginny said, setting her mouth in a firm line. She hauled Harry out of the Common Room, leaving Draco behind. He chuckled and followed them out. 

Upon entering the Entrance Hall, Draco easily found Luna, who was indeed wearing rather large earrings, but they were shiny disks that cast rainbows all over the place instead of her usual radishes. Her dress robes were silver and appeared to have sparkling stars on them that were dancing. 

Literally.

“You look lovely, Luna,” Draco greeted, bowing and extending his arm to her. 

“So do you,” she returned, dreamy smile in place. “Though, you look like you’re going to a funeral.”

Draco was wearing all black. 

“Well, with how Harry looked, you’d think I was attending his,” Draco countered. 

Luna slide her arm into the crook of Draco’s. “He’s just sad he couldn’t bring Tom.”

Draco eyed the blonde on his arm for a moment, debating on what he ought to say in response. 

“I know Tom’s not imaginary,” Luna went on absently, looking up at him with her huge, silvery eyes. “He’s not human, not a ghost— he’s just Tom. And not the same one that stole Ginny or altered Atlanta.” 

Now Draco really had no idea what to say.

“He is linked to Harry strongly,” Luna continued, not seeming to notice the fact she’d rendered Draco mute. “Weakly to Atlanta. And he is old and infested with Whackspurts.”

“Whackspurts?”

“Of course. It’s why he’s as he is,” Luna replied. “I’m not sure. The dust doesn’t say much on Tom.”

“The dust?”

“Oh!”

Luna suddenly pointed as the Drumstrung lot entered the Entrance Hall. Luna was looking at Hermione and Krum. The blue robes, the hair, and ease in which Hermione moved on Krum’s arm was just like last time, only this time instead of having no clue who the pretty girl on Krum’s arm was, Draco knew fully well who this girl happened to be: Hermione Granger. 

And like last time, he couldn’t tear his eyes off her. 

“Champions over here!” McGonagall shouted.

“We ought to go in,” Luna whispered. “I don’t care for all the fairy lights. Poor fairies.”

Tearing his eyes off Hermione, Draco led his date into the Great Hall. 

The Great Hall was decorated the same way as it’d been last time. It was like a winter wonderland, adorned with more fairy lights, decorated Christmas trees, enchanted snow and ice, and garlands of mistletoe and ivy criss-crossing the ceiling. Draco guided Luna to a table in the far corner, one that didn’t have too much mistletoe above it. It did have quite a bit of ivy.

“Is ivy safe?”

“Yes, much safer than mistletoe,” Luna dreamily replied. “And I like being close to the pile of enchanted snow.” 

There was a rather large mound of enchanted snow in the corner, with an decorated evergreen stuck in the center. 

Draco pulled the chair out for the girl and she gracefully sunk into it, smiling at him over her shoulder. Draco took the seat next to her. He continued to gaze around at the Great Hall as the table filled up with Finnigan, Thomas, and Longbottom. They’d chosen to take Patil, Brown, and Hannah Abbot as their dates. 

“Hey, Drake,” Finnigan greeted. “Who’s Krum’s date?”

Finnigan eyed Luna, who was informing Brown about Nargals. 

“Hermione.”

The table went silent.

“Are you serious?”

“No. I’m Draco,” Draco drawled.

Only Luna laughed.

“Krum honestly asked her?” Brown scornfully asked, craning her neck to see the champions, as they and their dates were parading in to sit at a table located at the front of the room. 

“Seems that way,” Draco sighed. 

“You sure?” Thomas asked, turning around to gawk.

“Hermione is a lovely girl,” Luna offered. “Though, it won’t last. Time and fate fixed a point in the future.” 

Draco stared at Luna. 

“Time is funny,” Luna went on. “Everything is all mixed up and tossed about. It’s brilliant.”

The entire table stared at Luna. 

“HARRY!!”

Draco’s eyes flew to the top table, where he realized Percy Weasley and Oliver Wood were seated, along with the other judges sans Crouch. Wood leapt to his feet and strangled Harry in his haste to greet the boy. The redhead pulled out a chair and sat his sister down, looking mildly embarrassed by his boyfriend’s behavior.

“What’s Wood doing here?” Thomas inquired.

“He’s here with his boyfriend, duh,” Brown grumped, scowling. 

“The cute ones are always taken,” Patil complained, eyeing Draco. 

“How do we get food?” Neville asked, frowning at his plate. Abbot picked up her menu, glancing around to see if anyone else was doing the same. 

“Menu,” Draco said, picking up his own and eyeing the choices. They were the same as before. 

“Pork chops!” Dumbledore’s voice sounded above the quiet chatter taking place in the hall. 

“Oh,” several people said at the same time as the food appeared on Dumbledore’s plate.

“Ah! Pork chops sounds good. Pork chops!” Neville cried and beamed at his plate upon the appearance of his dinner. 

* * *

With the food all consumed and the top table clearly all socialized out (Harry looked as if he wanted to strangle Ministry Brown Noser while Roger Davies was pretty much covered in food, due to missing his mouth from being dazed by his date, while Delacour had pudding in her hair from Ginny giving into her fiery temper when she’d had enough of Delacour’s dismissive manner at talking about Hogwarts and their chosen decorations), Dumbledore stood, asking everyone do follow suit. Once the entire hall was on his or her feet, the old man waved his wand making all the tables zoom to the back wall and line up, allowing an area of the floor to be cleared. He made a platform for the band to stand upon, complete with instruments. 

The Weird Sisters trooped out and the entire hall burst into screams and applause. 

“They are rather hairy,” Luna commented over the noise of Brown and Patil acting like screaming banshees. 

Once the band was set and ready and the girls all got a hold of themselves, the champions all took the dance floor, Harry looking about as green as he’d appeared before the first task. 

“You’d think he was tackling a dragon,” Draco muttered.

“Let us move closer to aid him in his time of need,” Luna suggested, taking Draco’s hand and dragging him through the crowd towards the dance floor. 

Draco and Luna came to rest just on the edge of the floor, having a perfect view of the couples as the music started. Ginny was clearly steering Harry through the motions and kept hissing at him out of the corner of her mouth to stop looking at his feet. Hermione glided graceful along with a suddenly sure footed Krum. Fleur looked livid each time she caught sight of Ginny, while Davies still looked drugged. Both had magically cleaned themselves of the food they’d obtained during dinner.

“Hallo, Draco!” 

Draco startled and saw Diggory wink at him as he twirled around the dance floor with Cho Chang. 

“He’s rather kind. Pity,” Luna sighed. “Ah, we can join now.”

And Luna dragged him on the dance floor. Soon, Draco was revolving on spot near where Ginny was wrestling with a reluctant Harry.  

“Nice socks, Potter,” growled a voice. 

Harry jumped (stepping on Ginny’s toes), following the gaze of the magical eye that was locked on his feet. Of course Moody could see through clothing. Draco prayed he didn’t do it often, as it was disturbing on many levels. 

“Oh, er…yeah, uh, Dobby the House Elf knitted them for me. He’s got this fixation with socks,” Harry said, grinning a little.

Moody laughed, then clunked off, taking Professor Sinistra with him. (She appeared as if she wasn’t sure how she’d ended up with Moody as a dance partner.) 

“How did he get her to dance?” Ginny faintly asked. “And how did he know what socks you were wearing?”

“He’s got a magical eye.”

“It sees all,” Luna added ominously. “Ginny, take Draco. He’s boring. He’s not stepping on my feet.”

“Excuse me?” Draco asked, staring at Luna incredulously. 

Luna all but threw Draco at Ginny, taking Harry and whisking him off and leaving Draco behind with a very red Ginny. 

“May I cut in?” Draco drawled ironically. 

Ginny blushed to the roots of her hair, but motioned he could cut in. 

Soon the slow song ended with one last quavering note from a bagpipe. Ginny and Draco dropped hands and clapped along with everyone else before the Weird Sisters launched into a fast paced song. 

“Oh! I love this song!” Ginny exclaimed, clapping her hands and jumping up and down. 

Now, Draco was out of his element. While he’d been trained to dance, he’d been trained to ballroom dance— not hop around to modern music. 

“I, uh…”

“Can I cut in?” Thomas asked, appearing literally out of nowhere.

Ginny glanced at Draco, who indicated he was more than happy to let Thomas take Ginny away. Draco made his way off the dance floor, remembering how Pansy had basically moved him through the motions of modern dancing, much to his discomfort. Draco soon found Harry seated at a table at the back of the room, looking relieved while Luna twirled in circles nearby, clearly enjoying herself. 

“Thomas stole your date,” Draco said, taking a seat next to Harry. 

“That’s fine,” Harry said. “I’m not sure she was having much fun with me anyways. I was so nervous about the whole dancing in front of everyone, I kept stepping on her toes. And before, she was angry with whatever Percy was going on about, then Fleur…well, was Fleur. I’m not meant for this sort of thing.”

Harry folded his arms across his chest as Luna loudly hummed out of tune to the music behind him. Draco wasn’t sure if he ought to ask his date if she wanted to dance again, but opted to keep Harry company. 

“Wished you’d ask Cho?” Draco asked, following Harry’s line of sight. 

“What?”

“Cho?”

“No. No. No. No,” Harry insisted.

“Well, if you say it four times,” Draco drawled, shaking his head. “Who would you have liked to ask?”

“I don’t know,” Harry grumbled. “I’d rather not be here. At all.” 

Draco nodded. His eyes easily found Hermione and Krum, who held all appearances of having a grand old time together. Krum, for the first time ever likely, looked happy and was not scowling. 

“She went with Viktor Krum?”

Draco and Harry turned to see Weasley standing behind them, his mouth hanging open. 

“That’s her right?”

“Hermione?” Draco inquired. “Yes, that’s Hermione. Is it so hard to believe she captured his eye?”

Weasley stared at Draco, his mouth still hanging open. 

Unlike last time, Weasley must have had some sort of say over his dress robes as they did not look like a frilly dress, nor did they clash with his hair. They were clearly second hand, but they were black and one couldn’t really tell in the dim lighting Dumbledore had cast as soon as the first dance had ended. 

“She’s fraternizing with the enemy!” Wealsey insisted. “He’s competing against Potter! Against Hogwarts! He—he—he—he’s from Durmstrang!” 

“Wow, Weasley, you’re right. He’s from Durmstrang. Harry, did you know?”

“Draco,” Harry chided lowly. “I’m fine with her going with Krum. He’s nice.”

Weasley looked as if Harry had just lobbed a lemon at him. “Seriously?”

“Why not?”

Weasley looked over at Draco, then back at Harry. “I’m not an idiot and I know.”

“Know what?” Harry asked, looking confused. 

“Seriously?”

“You keep asking that,” Draco said, getting annoyed. “What are you confused about, Weasley?”

Weasley, who now looked like he was rather enjoying himself, just smirked at them and sauntered off.

“What was that about?” Harry asked. 

“I have no clue.” 

Harry scoffed. “Really?”

“What? The last time…well, it was clear he had a crush on Granger. The Weasel. Not Weasley.”

“Weasley likes Hermione?”

“No. I don’t think so,” Draco edged. “I don’t know. I don’t think they’ve got much contact outside of whatever class they’ve got together.”

Harry nodded. “Okay. Whatever.”

“Oh, what were you going to tell us about the egg the other night? You never did tell me,” Draco said, latching on to a safe topic of conversation. 

He really hated being a teenager again. 

“Oh! Cedric told me to take a bath with the egg,” Harry explained. 

“Excuse me?”

“Search me,” Harry said, shrugging. “I was hoping either you and Hermione understood that one.”

“Have you opened the egg? I believe…well, there are mermaids in the lake. Mermaids can’t be understood above water.”

“Oh, I guess that makes sense. I didn’t really look at the egg passed dumping it into my trunk, since we know what we need,” Harry admitted. 

“Well, uh, do you want to take a bath with it?”

“Not really, but I’m curious what the Prefect’s bathroom looks like. He told me the password,” Harry said, looking a bit dreamy. “Were you a prefect?”

Draco nodded. “Yes, fifth year.”

“Only fifth year? I thought once you were one, you were one till graduation?”

Draco didn’t want to answer, and oddly was saved from answering by, speak of the devil, MBN the ever helpful Ministry Worker himself. 

“Mind if I sit?” MBN asked, not waiting for an answer. He was red in the face and winded. 

“Where’d Oliver go?”

MBN gave them both a dark look and didn’t answer. 

“What are you doing here, uh, Percy?” Draco asked, mentally patting himself on the back for not calling him one of his color nicknames and remembering the man’s actual first name. 

“I’m filling in for Mr Crouch. As I told Harry earlier, Mr Couch was unable to make it tonight and sent me in his steed,” Percy announced, puffing out his chest. 

Draco almost asked if Mr Courch had asked Weatherby and not Weasley, but something caught MBN’s attention before Draco got his mouth open.

“What do they think they’re doing, annoying senior Ministry members? No respect those two,” MBN hissed.

Draco turned in the direction MBN was looking and saw the twins trying to get Ludo Bagman’s attention. Bagman shook the pair off quickly, spotted Harry, and made a beeline for them. 

“I hope my brothers weren’t bothering you, Mr Bagman,” MBN said before Bagman could greet them. 

“What? Oh, not at all, Weath— Weasley. Not at all! No, they were just telling me a bit more about those fakes wands of theirs. Wondering if I could advise them on the marketing. I’ve promised to put them in touch with a couple contacts of mine at Zonko’s Joke Shop.”

MBN didn’t look thrilled by this statement. He pressed his lips together, but moved onto another topic so suddenly it was like he’d whipped out a new mask and put it on to cover his disapproval.

“How do you feel the tournament’s going, Mr Bagman? Our department’s quiet satisfied— the hitch with the Goblet of Fire was a little unfortunate, of course, but it seems to have gone smoothly since, don’t you think?”

Harry shifted in his seat, looking like he wanted to melt into the ground and ooze away. 

“Oh, defiantly! Wonderful! How’s old Barty doing? Shame he couldn’t come,” Bagman said.

“Oh, I’m sure Mr Crouch will be up and about in no time,” MBN said, puffing his chest out again. 

MBN continued to talk at length, so Draco dragged Harry away without either Bagman or MBN taking note. Grabbing the spinning Luna, the trio hurried outside into the cold night air. 

“Ah, this is lovely. We can save the fairies!” Luna exclaimed, jumping up and trying to capture the fairies set up as lights. They did not seem to want to be saved and moved out of her reach each time she jumped up to reach. Draco and Harry exchanged looks, but shrugged in unison, following after the skipping and hopping Luna, the lights going up and down in her wake. Luna soon got quite far ahead of them and they lost her somewhere in the twisting paths of the rose garden. Ahead somewhere they heard Luna’s tinkle of a laugh and splashing water. 

“Did they set up a fountain in here?”

“I…think so,” Draco allowed. “How did Luna get away so quickly?”

“She’s wily,” Harry said seriously. 

“…Don’t see what there is to fuss about, Igor.”

Draco and Harry froze.

“Severus,” said another voice, “you cannot pretend this isn’t happening!”

Without pausing to really think, Draco pushed Harry into a rosebush and followed just as Snape and Karkaroff came round the corner and into view. Neither looked happy. 

“It’s been getting clearer and clearer for months. I am becoming seriously concerned, I can’t deny it.”

“Then flee,” Snap hissed curtly. “Flee— I will make your excuses. I, however, am remaining at Hogwarts.” 

Harry gripped Draco’s arm. He could feel those green eyes on him, asking him what the hell those two were talking about. Before Karkaroff could voice more concern, Snape shot one of the rosebushes and squeals issued from it.

“Ten points from Ravenclaw, Fawcett!” Snape snarled. “And ten points from Hufflepuff, Stebbins!”

Draco waited for Snape to shoot their rosebush, but it didn’t happen. The two men walked off. 

“What’s Karkaroff worried about?”

“His Dark Mark,” Draco whispered. “It’s gotta be the Dark Mark.”

“Oh,” Harry breathed. “What does that mean?”

Draco looked at Harry sadly. 

“Oh. He’s coming back.”

“He is getting stronger. The Dark Mark is connected to Voldemort. That was part of the reason why it was so easy for so many to get off after…you know, because the mark faded. It’s just…a shadow. I’ve seen Father’s. It’s still there, but just a shadow. Easy to hide.”

“I know that. I saw Regulus’ when I showed him to the dining room,” Harry admitted. “He was kind of in a daze and didn’t realize he’d rolled up his shirtsleeves to his elbows.”

Draco had totally forgotten about Regulus Black. 

* * *

“You’re going to freeze to death out here.”

“Yes, that’s quite true,” Regulus agreed. 

“I know why I’m up here, what are you doing up here?”

“How are you even up here?” Regulus asked, sitting down next to where Tom was hovering above the bench. As his eyes adjusted to the dark of the roof top terrance, he noticed a familiar wooden block sitting a scant few inches away. 

“I couldn’t handle the insipid conversations any longer and I took my leave,” Tom admitted. 

“Atlanta went home hours ago,” Regulus said. “How are you going to get home?”

“I was going to have someone throw my block through the fire,” Tom drawled, crossing his pale, see through arms across his chest.

“Why’d you even come?”

Tom cast him a look. “I wished to speak to you. Luckily, I know you well enough to know you’d come up here once you had made a few rounds to assure your cousin and brother you were fine.” 

“And the masses that I’m not dead,” Regulus grumbled. 

“You are dead. Regulus Alphard Black is alive and well and speaking to me currently. Good that you only had to change your middle name to come back from the dead as your uncle’s spawn.”

Regulus leveled Tom with a glare and turned way. “You’ve not changed.”

“I’ve been on my own for a majority of the time you’ve been dead,” Tom reminded him grumpily. “The only contact I had with the human race was through correspondence or when Remus would stumble in between trips to America and wherever else the Blacks were summering or wintering. Or whatever they did.” 

“What did you wish to talk to me about, Tom?” Regulus asked tiredly. 

He had retreated to the roof to be alone with his thoughts. The months since he’d woken from his time-locked state had been hard. Besides the fact he was fifteen years out of his own time, Addy was dead, his father was dead, and while he wasn’t too crazy about his mother, she was dead and he felt a little bad that she’d died crazy and alone with only her mental House Elves for company. 

Tonight had been the worst night since he’d woken up. Regulus was a horrid liar, so keeping his origin story straight had been difficult in front of all the people who’d shown up for the first Black Christmas party in eons. He also almost jumped each time he opened his mouth to speak, as he didn’t recognize his own voice thanks to the spell Narcissa had cast upon him to make him sound flat and strange. He had no clue where his accent was supposed to be from, which Regulus guessed was the point.  

“What can you tell me of Bartemius Crouch?” Tom asked, turning burning dark blue eyes to Regulus. Tom had always had an intense stare when he was serious about something, but this was different. Regulus felt a chill go through him that had nothing to do with the weather. “Junior.”

“Barty?” Regulus faintly asked. “Uh…he’s dead?”

“No, he’s not.”

Fifteen years ago, if someone had told Regulus he’d believe that dead people weren’t always dead, he’d laughed.

“He was in Slytherin, a year behind me. He was…twisted,” Regulus said, remembering the boy. “He excelled at being a bully. And his adoration for Dark Lord Smurf was almost as reverent as Bella’s.”

Regulus shuddered, remembering the few exchanges he’d seen between Barty Crouch and the Dark Lord once the boy had joined the ranks. Barty was often partnered with Regulus for raids, something Regulus loathed. Barty always maimed and killed. The only positive thing about it was the fact he was usually so caught up in what he was doing, he failed to notice what Regulus was doing (not maiming and killing, but usually doing memory spells and hiding people).

“Anything else?” Tom quietly asked.

“He was a planner. And…while he was twisted and sick like Bella, he was…a thinker. He was clever,” Regulus admitted. “I believe the Dark Lord valued him so quickly because he was able to plan and carry out his plans perfectly, unlike some.”

“That and his father held a high position in the ministry and one day he would as well,” Tom added. 

Regulus nodded. “Why do you ask?”

Tom stood and said, “Take me back to the flat and I’ll show you what I’ve uncovered.”

Regulus watch Tom go into the cube then picked it up. It was light as he remembered. He tossed it upon and down a few times before pocketing it and creeping back into the house. The holiday party Narcissa had thrown to reintroduce Sirius and Regulus to society was still in full swing. Wishing to avoid the crowds, Regulus used the fireplace in his father’s old study (now Draco’s bedroom) to go to the flat. 

“Ah, much better.”

Regulus let out a rather un-manly noise at the sight of Tom pouring out of his pocket. 

“How’d you do that?”

Tom looked smug, but didn’t answer. 

“Tom? Is that you?” came a posh sounding child’s voice. 

Regulus braced himself for Atlanta Black to appear, but she never did. 

“TOM?”

“YES! I’ve brought Regulus to show him,” Tom called. 

“Oh. All right,” she said and piano music began to waft down the stairs. 

Tom grimaced and motioned for Regulus to follow. 

Regulus glanced around the flat, feeling more at home in the strangely decorated flat than he did in his own home. The flat was very Addy and not simply because the place was seeped in her magic in order to make the whole place solid for Tom. 

Tom pushed the door to his bedroom open and stepped inside, indicating for Regulus to look at something on the desk. Regulus crossed and stared at a burnt piece of parchment that sat in the center of the desk. It was clearly written by a pureblood wizard and likely not Harry Potter, even though it bore his name. 

Regulus looked up at Tom in question, never liking when Tom lorded information over him. 

“What am I looking at?”

“That’s the parchment that came out of the Goblet of Fire,” Tom said, rolling his eyes. “And this,” Tom pointed at a piece of Muggle paper, “is the result of the spell Atlanta worked for me earlier.” 

Frowning, Regulus picked the paper up. He was confused what exactly was going on the paper, but after a moment he realized it was a handwriting analysis spell. It compared many things and stated who, how, and when the name had been written. 

“It was written by Barty on 31 October of this year at eight in the morning?” Regulus asked, feeling a little light headed. 

“Correct.”

“How did you get a sample of his writing to know?”

“All prisoner’s of Azkaban have their signatures on public record,” Tom explained. 

“Oh,” Regulus breathed. “What does this mean?”

“The Marauders’ Map has a malfunction.” 


	18. The Smurf's Apprentice

**Disclaimer: If you know it, I do not own it and it is likely from _Goblet of Fire_ by JKR.**

* * *

Harry and Draco stayed into the rose bushes till they were close to frozen together. 

“We ought to move.”

“I know.”

“Why are we even still here?”

“Where else are we going to go?”

“Inside?”

“Shhh. I hear people.”

“Of course. There’s people snogging all around us!”

Harry giggled. “You said _snogging_.”

Draco glared in Harry’s direction and pushed him out of the rose bush. Harry landed flat on his face at the rather large feet of Hagrid. 

“Oh, hi ya, Harry. What’re ya doin’ in there?” Hargid asked. 

“Oh, nothing,” Harry insisted.

Harry scrambled to his feet and dusted himself off. 

“Er, hello Madam Maxime,” Harry greeted.

The woman didn’t say anything in response. Draco assumed she nodded her head, as he was unable to see her from his viewpoint. 

“Well, night,” Harry said and quickly exited, leaving Draco alone and frozen in the rosebush.

“So, uh, where were we?” Hagrid asked, turning back to his companion. 

Oh, dear god.

“We were just ‘ere, ‘Agrid,” Madame Maxie purred. 

“Oh! I remember. I jus’ knew…I know you were like me, are like me,” Hagrid insisted. “Was it yer mother or yer father?”

Oh, dear heaven above.

Draco suddenly realized crystal clear how Skeeter had gotten the information on Hagrid being half giant. Closing his eyes tightly (partly because being inside a rosebush was uncomfortable and partly because of what he was about to do), Draco pushed himself forward and tumbled out of the bush, right behind where Madame Maxine and Hagrid stood.

“Draco!”

Draco got to his feet. Madam Maxine gave him a very disapproving look. He hoped she didn’t speak to McGongall, as Draco doubted tumbling out of a bush shortly after Harry was something McGongall would frown upon. 

“Hi. Uh, I got lost. Have you seen Harry? We got separated.”

“He jus’ fell out of that bush,” Hagrid said slowly, eyeing Draco.

Draco yanked a few leaves out of his hair. “Is that so? Blimey. Well, oh, look at that beetle.”

Draco moved a few paces towards a statue that was sitting behind Hagrid and Madam Maxime. 

“Oof.”

Draco turned around to see Luna lying on the ground where he’d fallen moments before. 

“Well, that was troublesome,” Luna announced cheerily. “Nargles.”

“I thought those were in mistletoe,” Draco said, hurrying over to Luna to help her up. 

“They’ve infested the rose bushes. No wonder you and Harry were confused,” she announced. “Or lost. Are you confused or lost?”

“Both?”

“Er, uh, why don’t ya two get inside?” Hagrid suggested.

“Ah, pleasant. It was her father,” Luna announced, grabbing Draco’s hand and skipping off while dragging Draco, who worked hard not to trip over the hems of his dress robes. 

“How do you know these things?” Draco hissed as he stumbled after her. 

“Oh, just like I know Harry loves Tom,” Luna sung, dragging out Tom’s name for several beats. 

Draco lost his battle to not trip and tripped over the hems of his robes.

“Squint and you’ll see it,” she assured, tossing the door open to the school. “Ah, there he is!”

“Sorry,” Harry apologized as Luna and a shocked Draco joined Harry. “I, uh, panicked.”

“Oh, did you?” Draco drawled. 

“No,” Luna said before Draco could ask anything. “I’m all danced out. Don’t feel the need to request another dance. You’ve been a wonderful date. I set so many fairies free!”

“Uh, that’s nice,” Harry said when Draco failed to respond. 

Luna smiled serenely and sighed deeply. “I like having friends. I had some last time. First time in a long while.”

“Last time?” Draco asked, his voice going a little high.

“Time is a mad woman with a box,” Luna said, winking and holding her hands under her earrings. Luna’s earrings, which had been silver disks, had at some point had changed into deep blue boxes. 

“Wait…a minute,” Harry muttered. 

Luna grinned and danced off, leaving an opened mouth, gobsmacked Draco and bemused Harry. 

“Did she just hint she’s _Time_?”

“Uh, I think so.” 

“Can I go die now?”

“No.”

“Fine.”

“I think I get first dibs.” 

Harry scowled. 

* * *

When midnight rolled around, neither Draco or Harry was able to find Luna. She had seemingly vanished into thin air.

“Well, if she was Time, it’d explain why she’s so strange,” Harry offered as the two boys made their way with the rest of the students out of the Great Hall and into the Entrance Hall. 

“She can’t _be_ Time,” Draco insisted. The more he’d thought about it, the more it made sense and didn’t. “She was just as strange last time. And I don’t think she was Time last time. Time isn’t an actual person!”

“Wait, I thought she was a mad woman in a box?”

“Does Luna look like she’s in a box?”

“Well, no. But I swear she changed her earrings into boxes.”

“Yeah, well, she is a witch,” Draco pointed out. 

“Well, then how’d she know?”

“Know what?”

“That Time is a mad woman in a box?”

“Her father’s…interesting. Likely has that mad book and let her read it,” Draco suggested.

Harry stomped his foot as the pair passed Hermione saying goodbye to Krum. Draco felt a surge of jealousy rage through him as Krum kissed Hermione’s cheek and she giggled. 

“But, Luna simply _knows_ things she shouldn’t…she knew about Tom,” Harry whispered. 

Draco froze, turning to stare at Harry with wide eyes. 

“What? She knew about him. She said bring your friend Tom,” Harry said, looking confused. “I mean, she knew he was there. She kept talking to him.”

“Draco?” Hermione asked, appearing at his shoulder, her cheeks painted with a faint pink blush. 

Draco quickly looked at his feet. 

“What is going on? You two have been acting strange all evening. And I hardly saw either of you during the dancing. I know Draco can dance,” Hermione said, putting her hands on her hips. “What did you two get up to?”

“Luna’s Time,” Harry proclaimed.

“What?” Hermione asked, hands dropping from her hips. “Luna’s not Time. Time isn’t actually a real person. It’s just…well, like a bodiless entity.”

“I think it’s Luna,” Harry said stubbornly. “She knows, Hermione. She knows.”

“She’s a bit strange, but…” Hermione looked to Draco, who quickly looked back at his shoes. “Honestly, you don’t believe him, do you?”

“You didn’t see her!” Harry shouted.

“Harry, where is your date?” Hermione suddenly asked. 

“Oops.”

“Yeah, oops,” Ginny’s voice came from behind. She didn’t sound angry, though, which was a good thing. “Oh, Hermione, don’t look at him like that. I had a feeling I’d be dancing on my own. At least since I went with him, I got to go at all. Plus, I got to dance with quite a few boys.”

Ginny giggled. Hermione rolled her eyes. Draco escaped.

* * *

Draco was happy when Hermione reappeared bushy haired the next morning. She’d admitted to using an entire bottle of Sleekeazy’s Hair Potion in order to get her hair to lie smooth and straight for the ball. 

“Much too much of a bother for every day,” she insisted when she’d joined them at the breakfast the next morning. 

Most of the school was still asleep and the entire place was much quieter than usual.

“So, are you two still of the line of thought that Luna is Time?”

“No,” Draco said.

“Yes,” Harry said, looking stubborn. “I’ll ask Tom.”

Draco knocked over the marmalade, sending it oozing towards Hermione. She sent him a questioning look as she cleaned up the mess, as Draco was all thumbs in any of his attempts to get his wand out to clean it up.

“Hagrid’s half giant,” Draco blurted out, just to get away from the topic of Tom. 

Both Hermione and Harry stared at Draco blankly. 

“So?” Harry asked.

“I figured he must be,” Hermione admitted. “He’s rather tall.”

“I assumed he was a giant,” Harry admitted. 

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione tutted and went onto explain giants and their place within wizarding society. “It’s like werewolves all over again.”

“Hermione, giants are always violent and stupid,” Draco pointed out. “But, half giants…well, Hagrid isn’t violent in the least.”

“Are you saying he’s stupid?” Harry blustered.

“No,” Draco edged. 

“We ought to do our homework,” Hermione announced, buttering a slice of toast. “We’ve been neglecting it most of break and break will be over in a few days. Oh, and we must also organize…a liberation.”

“Liberation?” Harry asked.

“Of,” Hermione paused, making sure no one else was listening (not that there was anyone in the hall other than the professors), “gillyweed.”

“Oh,” Harry said, not looking exciting about breaking and entering. 

“Snape’s the only one who’ll have any,” Draco said. “I really don’t wish to break into his stores.”

“Yeah, we’ll set off his wards again,” Harry added. 

Hermione frowned. “It’s open during class right? We go in and out of his private stores all the time.”

“You do?” Draco and Harry asked together.

Hermione frowned. “Well, our class does. I guess we’re not a bunch of dunderheads and he trusts us.”

“It’s open during our class, but he never lets us in there,” Draco said, frowning. “Even when I was in Slytherin—” 

“But you have class with the Gryffindors. We’re in there on our own,” Hermione pointed out. “Anyways, I’ll grab some and there won’t be any trouble.”

“Till he realizes it’s gone,” Draco pointed out. “Then he’ll know it was a Ravenclaw.”

Hermione’s face fell. 

Harry, though, light up like a Christmas tree. 

“When do you have Potions?”

* * *

Harry ran through a few plans before classes began, but wound up having Tom go with Hermione to Potions on their first day back. Hermione sat near the open storeroom door, let the cube fall to the ground, then kicked the cube into Snape’s store room. 

This was where Harry and Draco later liberated Tom. 

“Oh, thank god it’s you,” Tom groaned. “I’m bored.”

“Oh, hush. Where’s the Gillyweed?”

“What about the wards?” Draco asked for what felt like a millionth time.

“I put my hand under the door, using the block to keep me solid, and prevented it from closing. Without the door fully closed, the ward didn’t take. Hermione kept Professor Snape fully engaged and he didn’t notice.”

The _fool_ was left unsaid. 

“It’s in alphabetical order,” Draco reminded Harry, handing him a jar. 

Harry nodded, moving passed Tom and heading for the Gs. 

“How much do I need?”

“A handful should suffice,” Tom drawled, kicking his block out of the storeroom and into the classroom. He gazed around expressionlessly. 

“Okay, got it,” Harry whispered, scampering out. “Now what?”

“We leave,” Draco pointed out. “Unless you want to sleep here.”

“No. It’s cold. Tom?”

“Coming,” Tom drawled, kicking his cube over to Harry. Harry bent over and pocketed the block. “Now, without further ado, why don’t we meet Hermione and I can share my news.”

Harry vibrated and nodded, hurrying out of the classroom, pulling Tom with him. 

“Uh, you might want to go into his pocket,” Draco suggested. 

“I’m trying, but he’s holding me.”

Draco coughed and turned red. 

Both Harry and Tom stared at him. 

“Sorry. Something went down wrong,” Draco said, coughing again. “Let’s go.” 

Harry let go of Tom and Tom vanished from sight. After throwing the Invisibility Cloak over Draco and himself, Harry hurried out of the classroom with Draco on his heels. 

* * *

“That was rather anticlimactic,” Hermione commented when Harry had proudly produced the jar of Gillyweed. “So, Tom, what do you have to tell us?”

“Put the map out,” Tom ordered. 

Confused, Harry set the Marauder’s Map out on the table in the Room of Requirement where they had gathered to hear what Tom had found out while he was back at the flat from his handwriting spell. Harry activated the map and Tom bent over it till his nose almost went through it. 

“Who has the same name, first and surname, as their father?”

He looked at Draco.

“Goyle. He’s Gregory Goyle VI.” 

Tom hummed and scanned the map. He pointed, his finger going through the map in his excitement. “There. What does it say?”

Harry bent over, frowning as he read, “Gregory Goyle.”

“Exactly.”

“Uh, Tom, that’s his name.”

“No! You see! His REAL name is Gregory Goyle VI. NOT simply Gregory Goyle!”

Harry and Hermione both stared at Tom as if he’d misplaced his brain, but Draco suddenly understood what Tom was getting at. 

“Oh, no,” Draco breathed. “That’s how we missed it! That’s how we didn’t…but, wait…you know who it is!”

“The spell worked!” Harry asked, looking excited. “Who? Who put my name in the Goblet of Fire.”

“Barty Crouch.”

“No,” Hermione breathed.

“Are you sure?” Harry asked. 

Draco beat his head with a nearby coverless book. 

“Junior,” Tom finished.

“Junior?” Harry asked. “Then why…wait. What?”

“It makes sense! Oh, why didn’t I see that?” Draco asked, the book going to pieces from the abuse of hitting Draco’s head. 

“I didn’t see it,” Tom quietly admitted, eyeing Draco. 

“Crouch’s son shares the same name. He shows up as Bartemius Crouch.”

Hermione and Harry still didn’t get it. 

“But, that’s Mr Crouch. It can’t be his son. He’s too old!”

“Polyjuice portion,” Tom and Draco said together.

Hermione gasped and covered her mouth.

“So, Mr Crouch isn’t Mr Crouch, but his son?” Harry asked, looking unsure.

“Or controlled by his son,” Tom added. He looked at Hermione, “Did you get the folder I requested from Atlanta?”

“Yes, of course,” Hermione said, pulling out a green folder and setting it on the table. She flicked it open and waited for Tom to instruct her. 

“It’s in the front there, the results.”

The three bent their heads over. Draco read impossible information and sat back heavily. “So, he was there. Junior was there and we didn’t know it because he was disguised as his father.”

“It might explain his…odd behavior during the tasks,” Hermione whispered. “I mean, his not paying attention and constant working.” 

“But, that might be how Crouch is and he might not be Junior,” Harry pointed out. 

“No, I think Hermione’s right,” Tom said. “Since Draco doesn’t remember anything about Crouch or who is the most loyal servant, I believe we must go with what I know of the Crouches.”

“And what do you know?” Draco demanded. 

Tom narrowed his eyes dangerously. “What I observed, for one. I also spoke to someone who actually knew them.”

The three humans in the room blinked dumbly at him. 

“You might have forgotten about him, but I did not,” Tom smugly went on. “On Christmas, I asked Regulus Black to tell me all he knew of both Senior and Junior Crouch. What he said was most enlightening.”

Tom smirked. 

“Well?” Harry pressed. “What’d he say!?”

“When I told him of Crouch’s actions during the first task, Regulus frowned and told me that was greatly unlike Senior. As I felt at the time, it was out of character. Crouch loves rules. He loves to make sure they are upheld.”

“He didn’t pay attention,” Hermione breathed. 

“No. He worked. Now, this might seem somewhat pedestrian and extremely—”

“But it’s his impression of his father,” Draco realized. “He thinks his father is always working, no matter what.”

Tom nodded, looking somewhat ruffled Draco interrupted him. 

“I thought you said Junior was dead,” Harry said, looking at Draco. “That’s why we weren't going to worry about him.”

“I said he was dead,” Tom corrected. “Draco simply backed up the statement by saying he wasn’t around during the second war.”

“Did Regulus tell you about how, uh, Junior was as a Death Eater?” Hermione asked quietly. 

Tom nodded. He looked upset, a little ticked off, and reluctant to say what he knew he had to say. “Regulus confirmed that Junior was a loyal and adamant Death Eater. He relished in violence and believed in everything Dark Lord Smurf, as Regulus kept calling him, believed in. The thing that made Junior much more dangerous than even the likes of Bellatrix is that he is clever.”

“He thinks before he plays,” Draco muttered. 

His aunt wasn’t stupid, but she wasn’t clever. Her zeal often got the best of her.

Tom nodded. “I believe…Lord Smurf would hand over the task of setting up Harry Potter to Junior without blinking an eye.”

“Lord Smurf?” Hermione faintly asked, a look of confusion and amusement on her face.

“I’m not sure the back story, but it’s what Regulus kept calling him. He explained what a Smurf was. It’s a blue creature that wears pants and a hat.”

“Marv isn’t blue,” Harry said, frowning. 

“No, can’t say he’s ever favored that color,” Tom drawled. “Regulus didn’t explain—”

Hermione suddenly burst out laughing. 

“Hermione?” all three boys asked in unison. 

She got a hold of herself, shaking her head. “I just pictured Voldemort as a Smurf. I read the comics as a kid when I was learning French.” 

“I thought it was a television show,” Tom said, frowning.

“I don’t know,” Hermione admitted. 

“Now I wanna know what a Smurf is,” Harry complained, pouting.  

Tom sighed. Harry quickly stopped pouting. 

“So, uh, back to on topic, if Junior’s alive, then how’d he’d get out of jail? No one escaped except Sirius,” Harry pointed out, looking pale and a little green again. 

“That, I do not know. It was publicized he died within the walls of Azkaban. His mother a few months after. The papers made it out like she died of a broken heart. She was a mess of tears at the trial, as was Junior,” Tom reported, looking thankful to not be discussing Smurfs any longer. 

“That’s why Crouch fell from grace, you said,” Draco remembered. “Because people thought he was too harsh on his son.”

“Regulus did not believe he was harsh on his son at all. Then again, I doubt anyone was aware of the depths of his crimes,” Tom said. 

Draco shuttered. 

“Regulus was…is…he…” Harry trailed off, looking sad. 

“Regulus was a Death Eater. He’s no innocent,” Tom said. “He is also a Black.”

Harry blinked, looking at Draco. 

“It means he was likely witness to…well, his mother was rather harsh.”

Tom snorted. 

“But, you’re mom’s a Black…” Harry trailed off. 

“Yes, and you’ve never seen her angry,” Draco pointed out. “I’ve not often seen her angry. The angriest I’ve ever seen her was when she kicked Father out— and she didn’t simply tell him to leave.”

“What are we going to do now that we know who’s working with Voldemort?” Hermione asked, somewhat loudly. “I mean, he’s a full grown, clearly mentally stable— well, somewhat mentally stable adult. We’re three children and a not ghost.”  

“You forgot Regulus,” Tom pointed out. 

“And a man who just came back from the dead who has barely begun to live,” Draco added. “So, yes, now what?”

Tom folded his arms across his chest. “We further observe Crouch. No, hear me out.”

Tom held up a hand to silence Harry.  Tom turned his full attention to Harry and continued.

“They do not know we already know the tasks, know what their end games is or we’ve figured out that it is Crouch who is aiding Voldemort. We cannot change events too greatly. Voldemort will not act till he is stronger and that will not be till the summer. We’ve got almost six months to observe Crouch and find evidence where the senior Crouch is located.“

“Wouldn’t he just kill him?” Harry asked.

“I doubt he’d kill him,” Draco said. “He needs a live source for the Polyjuice Potion.”

“Draco’s right. Crouch Senior is alive,” Hermione whispered, pressing her fingers to her lips. Her brown eyes were wide and she looked at each boy in turn before lowering her hand. “This is real, isn’t it?” 

“Yes,” Tom replied, suddenly looking serious and seldom. “Very real.”

Hermione swallowed thickly, set her shoulders and looked somewhat scary suddenly. “Then, we must observe to fully know what we’re up against. Oh! We ought to write to Percy.”

“Excuse me?” Draco asked.

“Weasley? He is Crouch’s assistant, is he not? He spoke to Harry at length at the ball,” Hermione went on. “Did he mention why he was there instead of Crouch?”

“Crouch was ill,” Harry said. “So he sent Percy to fill in.”

“Ill? Has he been often ill?”

“Well, I got the feeling this was unheard of…Bagman asked several time if Percy was sure Crouch would okay,” Harry said, frowning. 

“Crouch is a workaholic,” Tom reminded them. “It’s in his character. It’s what Junior has latched onto impersonating him.”

“But, he’s arrogant,” Draco realized. “Because he forgot his father’s love of rules.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Tom allowed. “He did make sure each champion had followed the rules at the end of the task. There wasn’t much that he had to pay attention to based on the rules throughout the tasks. And the next task…we can’t even see anything.”

“Nor is there anything to see at the third task,” Draco added. “I’m not sure why they think this thing is a good spectator sport.” 

Tom snorted. 

“Well, the next time Crouch will be here will be for the second task,” Hermione said, reaching forward on the table for the Gillyweed. “We will watch him carefully. Also, I still think we must write to Percy.” 

“By _we_ you mean me,” Harry grumped.

“I will aid you in composing a letter,” Tom said, rolling his eyes at Harry. “Do not fret.”

Draco reached for the paper with the spell results once more and stared. “So, that was why Crouch was hanging around the Entrance Hall. He entered Harry.”

“No. He never approached the Goblet of Fire,” Tom said. He frowned. “He simply observed until shortly after you three went into the Great Hall for breakfast. Then he left.”

Tom looked as if he wished to kick himself. 

“Then who entered Harry?”

“He must have gotten one of the students to do it for him,” Tom grumbled. 

Hermione sighed and looked at her watch. 

“Oh, we ought to leave. It’s almost passed curfew.”

The three humans hurried to gather up their belongings, while Tom zoomed into his wooden block. 

* * *

 _A/N: The of this chapter title comes from one of the stories in_ Over the Rainbow _,[Dark Lord Smurf.](../../864139) So, in case you wish to know why Regulus calls Voldemort a Smurf, read that chapter. (Or not, and just appreciate Hermione’s reaction.) _


	19. Quiet No More

**Disclaimer: If you know it, I do not own it and it is likely from _Goblet of Fire_ by JKR.**

* * *

Draco knew it was too good to be true Rita Skeeter would remain silent for long. Her sentence of speechlessness ended when Harry burst into the Common Room on a rather dreary afternoon a few weeks before the second task, waving a magazine around. 

“She did it,” Harry announced, throwing the magazine down on the table in front of Draco. “Nott was ever so gleeful today during Care for Magical Creatures and I finally got out of him why.”

Draco stared at the thing, which had a rather reluctant looking Harry on the cover and a headline about him being the youngest champion, yet completely in love with fame. (Though, anyone looking at the photo shouldn’t agree with that, as it was clear the photo hated fame.) Draco blinked dumbly at the publication. 

“The reason for his utter glee, though, had nothing to do with me,” Harry went on, slumping into the chair across from Draco. “Page seven.”

Draco picked up the magazine, a publication he’d never heard of before, and flipped to page seven where a familiar story glared at him in black and white. He didn’t even bother to read it, simply blankly stared at the shifty looking image of Hagrid and the familiar headline stating DUMBLEDORE’S GIANT MISTAKE. 

“I take it that story ran last time,” Harry muttered, taking note of Draco’s reaction. 

Draco nodded. “Only in the paper. I take it Hagrid wasn’t in class?”

Harry nodded his head in agreement. 

“It’s almost the same exact story,” Draco admitted, finally making himself read it. “Only I’m switched out for Nott.”

“Figured. Why is this so important that Time made it happen again?”

“I don’t know. To teach you a lesson in dealing with the press?” Draco asked, flipping through the magazine. There were rather sensational stories on each page— some that made _The Quibbler_ look tame. 

“Tom was livid.”

“You’ve already shown him?” Draco questioned, looking up. 

“No. Atlanta informed me he was livid when I passed her on my way here,” Harry replied. 

“I’m honestly amazed it took her this long to get someone to publish her lies,” Draco admitted. “I guess Tom’s more fearsome than we believed. I’ve never even heard of this magazine.”

“Of course not. It is the first issue,” Harry grumped. “In the Muggle world there’s a ton of papers and other places to publish rubbish. Not so much here, huh? Well, till now.”

Draco shook his head. “If Tom was on a rampage against her, then it would be highly likely no one would publish her, but _The Moon: Real Wizarding News,_ isn’t exactly a high class publication, is it? Or one anyone’s heard of.”

Harry snorted. “How’d she find out? About Hagrid?”

“She was there in the rose garden. While he didn’t outright say it, it was clear that was the direction the conversation was heading,” Draco said. “Beetle, remember?”

“Oh. Yeah,” Harry sighed, slumping further in his chair. “I don’t need this.”

“I wouldn’t worry. Potter came out on top…kind of.”

“What do you mean?”

Draco shifted, but didn’t really want to tell Harry he’d be thought as insane, mental and off his rocker next year. 

“Whatever. I’m going to get my homework done then, I don’t know. Pretend to try to figure the egg or something.”

Harry pushed himself out of the chair and headed up the stairs, leaving Draco alone with the publication dedicated to Harry Potter, besmirching Dumbledore, and basically everyone else of import in the wizarding world. 

* * *

“I’m going to go tell Hagrid I don’t care,” Harry announced after dinner as he, Draco, and Hermione lingered in the Great Hall working on homework together. 

“You don’t care about what?” Hermione inquired.

Harry stared at her with a look of dumbfounded confusion on his face.

“That Hagrid is a half giant,” Draco supplied. “Well, you better hurry if you want to make it down there and back before curfew.”

“Why…what happened?” Hermione asked, frowning. 

“How could you not know?” Harry demanded.

Hermione looked baffled. 

“She lives in her own world,” Draco supplied, closing his Potions book. “Well, let’s go.”

On their way down, Harry explained to Hermione about the brand new wizarding publication called _The Moon: Real Wizarding News_. They knocked and banged on Hagrid’s door for ten minutes, but Hagrid never answered. The curtains were drawn and the cabin was dark. The only sign of life was Fang barking his head off behind the closed, locked door. 

“Why is he avoiding us?” Hermione inquired as they headed back to the school. “He surely doesn’t think we care about him being a half giant?”

“He’s rather sensitive,” Harry said, flinging the door open. “Might write him a letter telling him I don’t care. I mean, he must have read the things she said about me. She said I was twelve and a prima donna.”

“A what?” Draco asked while Hermione snickered. 

“High maintenance,” Hermione explained, then looked at Harry. “And you don’t look twelve.”

Harry glowered. 

“Well, he is kind of high maintenance,” Draco drawled. “With the Smurf Lord after him all the time and always trying to die.”

“I don’t always try to die!” Harry exclaimed. “I’d love a quiet life out of the spotlight.”

“We know,” Hermione assured. “Once Dark Smurf has been dealt with, no doubt the quiet life will be what you’ll be left to.” 

Harry nodded, closing the topic. 

* * *

A few days later, Draco was trying his best to chop up ginger roots when someone knocked on the door to the Potions classroom. Snape looked up from whatever he was doing at his desk, glared at Harry, then said in his usual tone of voice, “Enter.”

The door banged open and Professor Karkaroff entered. Draco stopped chopping his roots and glanced at Harry as Karkaorff ignored the class and swept through the room towards Snape. Harry looked utterly bewildered, but quickly went back to looking as if he was chopping his roots and not trying his best to overhear what the two older men were conversing about. From where Draco was seated next to Neville across the room, he couldn’t heard what Karkaroff and Snape were saying, but he could see that Karkaroff was quiet agitated. He kept twisting his finger around his goatee. 

“What’s up with him?” Neville whispered, almost chopping his own finger off. 

“I don’t know,” Draco admitted, grabbing Neville’s wrist and yanking it upwards. “Cut the roots a little bit smaller. It’ll help.”

“I almost just cut my finger off. I’m hopeless,” Neville muttered.

“You are not. Just pay more attention to your fingers than what Snape is doing,” Draco whispered as Snape snapped, “After the lesson.”

And just like last time, though Draco didn’t really remember Karkaroff being this agitated last time, Karkaroff hovered behind Snape’s desk for the remainder of the double period. At the end of the lesson, Harry knocked over his bottle of armadillo bile, sending it all over the floor. He made a show not making a fuss over cleaning it up and ducked under the table. When the bell rang, Harry was still under the table slowly moping up the bile. Draco rolled his eyes and followed with the rest of the class out of the dungeon. After making an excuse to Neville that got Neville to leave and allow Draco to wait for Harry, Draco rested against the wall opposite the door and waited. After a moment, Karkaroff stormed out of the classroom. He looked both worried and upset, but so lost in his thoughts he failed to notice Draco. A few second later, Harry came out, still trying to stuff his belongings into his bag. Harry spotted Draco and jerked his head in the direction of the stairs and the two headed off. 

“So, what did you find out?”

“The mark on his arm is freaking him out. Snape’s been avoiding Karkaroff. Karkaroff said it was getting clear and it’s not been clear since something, I assume since Marv was a solid being,” Harry said as the pair climbed the stairs towards the warmth of the main floor. “Snape really didn’t want to talk about it.” 

“Of course not,” Draco agreed. Nor did Draco, so he changed the topic. “So, Hogsmeade the weekend.”

Harry quirked his eyebrow and nodded. “Yeah. Sirius wrote to tell me he is stopping by the village and wants to meet up.”

“He is?”

“Yeah. I think he wants to talk about everything in person instead of letters. I’ve been keeping him up to date, but I think he might know something he wants to tell us in person.”

Draco nodded his agreement. “Where are you to meet him?”

“Three Broomsticks,” Harry replied. “He said I was welcome to bring everyone along.”

“Everyone?”

“Yeah. You, Hermione….Tom,” Harry finished quietly. 

“Where has Tom been?”

“With Atlanta,” Harry replied. “She’s got better handwriting, so she wrote the letter to Percy. She also is…well, between Tom and Atlanta, I’m sure we’ll get more out of Percy than we’d get if I wrote him.”

“But you know him,” Draco pointed out with a frown.

“Do I? Atlanta’s Ginny’s friend. And she’s Atlanta,” Harry said as if that explained everything. 

Draco shrugged. He wasn’t sure why Hermione wanted to write Ministry Brown Noser in the first place. 

* * *

When the trio (plus one wooden block) entered Three Broomsticks they found it crowded with both students and other adults who usually did not usually haunt the pub on the weekends. 

“Why is it so crowded?” Hermione asked as they elbowed their way through the crowds to the table where Sirius was sitting by himself looking broody. Draco wasn’t sure if he was in fact brooding or simply trying to ward people off. 

“Likely due to the tournament,” Draco replied, taking note Bagman and Skeeter were both in the pub. Luckily both were too much focused on what they were currently doing to take note of Harry. 

They made it to the table and as soon as they took seats, Sirius went from broody to happy. 

“Thank god!” he crowed, “I thought you lot forgot about me.”

“No, sorry, we didn’t,” Harry assured. “It just took us longer than usual. There’s a lot of people around.”

“I noticed that,” Sirius muttered, glowering into his glass of Firewhiskey. “So, butterbeers?”

Harry and Hermione nodded eagerly. 

“Draco?”

“Oh, yes, please.” 

Sirius waved down the barkeep. Draco looked away as Sirius flirted up a storm with the woman. Harry’s pocket snorted. 

“You’ve got Tom?” Sirius asked, eyeing Harry’s pocket after the woman had taken her leave. 

“Yeah, well, uh…”

Sirius shrugged. “Reggie mentioned he’s growing leaps and bounds with you. Not sure if that’s a good thing.”

Draco was sure Tom made some sort of retort, but it was lost within the ambient noise of the pub. 

After their drinks arrived, Sirius glanced around before leaning closer and said, “I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but Regulus can’t lie. And someone ought to have remembered that.”

Tom cursed darkly from under the table, having exited Harry’s pocket. Harry frowned, glancing between Hermione and Draco looking confused. 

“He told you about the handwriting spell,” Draco surmised. Sirius nodded, grinning. “And he told you who put Harry’s name in the goblet.”

“Yup. Can’t say I believed him at first,” Sirius admitted. “But, before we get into that topic, how does prep for the final task go? I assume you’ve got what you’re doing squared for the one in a few weeks?”

Harry shifted a little, glancing at Draco. Having never trusted an adult before in their plans, Draco understood why Harry was looking at him. Draco motioned with a hand for Harry to explain. 

“Yeah, all squared away. Er, Hermione and Draco are helping me find all sorts of helpful spells for the last one.”

Sirius raised an eyebrow. “Even though you don’t know what you’re going to be facing?”

“Well, yeah. That kind of makes it hard,” Harry admitted.

“It’s a maze,” Draco said flatly. “Filled with dangers. He’ll need to know what direction he’s going, how to defend himself, and basically that’s it.”

Sirius frowned. He glanced between the three and looked outraged suddenly.  “So, you’re going to let it happen? Just let him come back?”

“It’s a fixed point,” Harry said, frowning. “We’ve got to work around that. How much do you know?”

“A fixed what?” Sirius asked. 

“Just that I’m not from around here and whatever Regulus might have told him,” Draco said, suddenly aware they were in a public place. Granted it was busy and loud and it was not highly likely someone was going to overhear or understand what they were talking about. “I don’t think we really explained the finer points to him.” 

Hermione kneaded the space between her eyebrows for a moment. 

“Fixed point in time,” she explained patiently. “It means it’ll happen no matter how we change things. We don’t know exactly what is fixed and what is not, but it seems like…”

“Smurf. I like thinking of him as a Smurf,” Harry snickered.

“A what?”

“He doesn’t know what that is,” Tom offered from under the table.

“Marv. Stick with Marv,” Draco said. 

“How many nicknames do you have for him?” Sirius asked, looking suddenly amused. “And I do know what a Smurf is. Regulus explained it.” 

“Sure he did,” Tom snickered. 

“Marv. Marv is a somewhat important event it seems,” Hermione said, looking desperate to avoid what would likely be a bickering match between Tom and Sirius. “So, he’ll return one way or another. What we need to do is damage control.”

Sirius stroked his chin for a moment, looking old and ancient suddenly. Harry shifted, looking uncomfortable. 

“I know you kids think you gotta do this on your own, but it seems like a lot for a bunch of teenagers to handle,” Sirius admitted. 

“They did it last time,” Draco quietly said. “And without me.”

Sirius frowned. “Yeah, but something must have gone wrong. You’re here.”

“Point,” Draco conceded, taking a large gulp of his butterbeer.

“Tell us what you’re hearing,” Tom ordered. “You’ve clearly got something to say if you spoke to Regulus.” 

“Hey, don’t do that!” Sirius said, looking under the table. Tom had likely stuck his hand through Sirius’ leg, which wasn’t a pleasant feeling in the least. “Okay, fine. Well, I’m sure you’re aware of the missing woman? Bertha Jorkins?”

“Yes, I’ve read about her in the paper,” Hermione said. 

“Didn’t you hear that name in that dream, Harry?” Draco asked. 

“I heard the name Bertha. It was Bertha and Hilderbatch.”

Sirius shifted, taking a sip of his drink before speaking. “Yeah, so the news got out Bertha’s been missing since June. Turns out she went on holiday and got lost. She was supposed to meet up with her second cousin somewhere in Eastern Europe and never showed up. She went MIA around the same time as Hilderbatch. Barty Crouch has gotten personally involved since the news broke.”

“To cover his tracks,” Harry muttered.

Sirius nodded. “I didn’t believe it when I finally wheedled _that_ out of Reggie. While, I might not be a genius, if Tom’s spell said it was Barty Crouch Junior, who am I to argue?”

“We knew it was a pureblood just by looking at the paper,” Draco muttered, feeling a bit put off the only reason Sirius readily agreed was due to the spell. 

“But you needed Tommo’s spell. Stop that,” Sirius hissed, eyes going under the table for a bit. “Anyways, I’m sure Reg told Tom all about Barty. Reg would know wouldn’t he? They were a pair.” 

“A pair of what?” Harry asked. 

“I don’t know. Now that I know my little brother a bit better, I’d never say they were friends, but they were around the same age and in the same house. When we were at school, I’d say they were friends, as they ran in the same circles. But then, well, someone pointed out to me that Regulus didn’t exactly have any friends.”

An uncomfortable silence fell at the table. Sirius raked his hand through his hair, then pushed on with what he had to say. 

“Oh, yeah, so besides Bertha’s story going public in a big way and the fact she went MIA the last place Marv was known to be lurking—”

“Wait, what?” Harry asked. “She went missing from where?”

“She was on holiday in Albania, the same country Ms Hilderbatch was found dead.You do read the papers, Harry, don’t you?” Hermione asked. “Jorkins works for the Ministry. Bagman didn’t do anything went she first went missing because he claims she’s forgetful and just gets lost at times.”

Sirius shook his head and snorted. “No. If there is one thing she’s not, it’s forgetful. She remembers everything and lots of things she shouldn’t.”

Hermione gasped. 

“What?” Sirius asked.

“She’d know.”

“Know what?”

“She worked in the same department as Bagman. She’d have known about the tournament when she went missing.”

“She told Marv,” Harry flatly said. 

“She must have.”

The table fell silent, till Tom said, “She might have also known about Junior.”

“How?” Hermione asked, looking under the table. 

It was a good thing it was so busy, as if it weren’t, people might wonder why they all kept talking under the table at something. 

“Sirius said she knew things she ought to forget,” Tom pointed out. “Who is to say she didn’t know that Junior was still alive.”

“No,” Sirius said, shaking his head. “At the end, Crouch disowned his son.”

“How’d he get out of Azkaban?” Hermione inquired. “So far you’re the only person known to escape, but we know he’s out and about.”

Sirius frowned. 

“What do you remember?” Tom demanded. 

“The same thing I told Reggie when he asked,” Sirius snapped, blindly kicking under the table. From the way he shivered, he hit his target. “I was in there when they brought him in, watched through the bars in my door. He was young…pale and looked horrible. By nightfall, he was screaming for his mother. He went quiet after a few days, like they all do. Except when they shirk in their sleep.”

A dark look crept onto Sirius’s face and his eyes deadened. 

“What happened when he died?” Draco asked. 

Sirius shook his head, black hair falling into his face. “I don’t know how much time passed before he died. Maybe a year? Or less. I’m not sure. I knew he was getting close as the dementors get excited when someone gets close to death. Crouch being an important Ministry official was allowed a deathbed visit, along with his wife. He was half carrying her when they arrived. She looked horrible, pale and sickly just as her son had looked when they’d brought him in.”

“She died,” Hermione breathed. “She’d dead.”

Sirius nodded. “Yes, I guess she went shortly after the boy supposedly…went…oh god.”

“They switched,” Tom said from his spot under the table. 

“Crouch never came for his son’s body. The dementors just tossed it into the area they have outside the prison for unclaimed bodies.”

“He’d have to keep up appearances,” Draco said, a little blankly. “The Death Eater son died, he didn’t need to have an elaborate funeral for him.”

“Did he for his wife?” Harry inquired. 

Sirius shook his head. “No. I guess it was quiet affair only attended by himself and a few other still living family members.”

“So, he’d buried no one and then what did he do with his son?” Hermione asked, looking ill. “What has Junior been doing these past thirteen years or so? Where did his father hide him? How’d he control him? How’d he escape?” 

No one had any answers. 

“Well, whatever he did failed,” Sirius grumbled. 

“What was the other thing you wished to tell us before we got distracted?” Tom questioned. 

“Oh, Reggie wanted you lot to know the mark…is dark,” Sirius said, frowning. 

“We know,” the three teenagers chimed. 

“And to not worry about Karkaroff,” Sirius finished. “Reggie thinks the guy isn’t worth the trouble to worry about even if he was one of his old posse.”

“Yeah, I agree,” Draco said. 

“He flees, doesn’t he?” Hermione asked, frowning as if she was trying to remember something that was on the tip of her tongue.

“Yeah. I think he made it about a year before…Marv and crew caught up to him.”

“Well, there you go,” Sirius said, finishing off his whiskey. “So, let’s talk about something cheery. How’s class?”

“Classes are not a cheery topic,” Harry grumbled.

“They can be. We’re learning a ton!” Hermione exclaimed, staring at Harry with wide eyes. She was on the brink of launching into a tirade on how wonderful school was when they were interrupted.

“Ah! Look! It’s Sirius Black and Harry Potter!”

Draco felt his blood freeze as he turned his gaze upwards to find Rita Skeeter looming above the table looking like a vulture. Her beady eyes darted between Sirius and Harry, the look of glee evident on her face. Without asking, she grabbed a chair from somewhere and pushed Draco out of the way so she could sit at the table. Draco wound up under the table with an irate Tom. 

“What does she think she’s doing?” Tom hissed, glaring knives at Skeeter’s legs. 

“Don’t do anything dumb,” Draco whispered, crawling out from under the table and dusting his robes off. He took stock of the situation. Skeeter looked pissed off, Sirius looked like he was having too much fun while Harry and Hermione both looked as if they were going to burst out laughing at any moment. 

“So, yez, wingnut babble smurf,” Sirius easily said, smiling a rather charming looking smile at Skeeter. “Comprende?”

“I thought you were sane?” she hissed. 

“Whozit whatzit mushy computer,” Sirius replied. 

“Oh! Wonderful! Gibberish!” Luna cheered, causing Skeeter to jump, as Luna had pretty much shouted in her ear. “I love gibberish. Are we speaking it already?”

“You stupid girl,” Skeeter harshly said, standing up suddenly. “He’s just being difficult since he refuses to speak to me.”

“Or allow me to speak to you,” Harry said, frowning but looking not at all sorry about it. 

Sirius began to speak what sounded like actual gibberish, but he was speaking it much more fluently than he’d been speaking the nonsense he’d been spouting before, so Draco figured he might be speaking Bulgarian. Sirius fluidly stood up, looked rather pleased with himself, then swept out of the bar, followed closely by Harry, who was fighting a losing battle not to laugh. Skeeter narrowed her eyes. 

“You do realize you can’t touch him either,” Draco drawled. “Not in any publication people will take seriously. I’m not sure, but you’ve maddened T.R. DeVinette. He seems to be out for your blood.”

“Oh, is that why that brand new magazine already went under?” Luna faintly asked. “Daddy was wondering, as he thought it was going to be great competition for _The Quibbler_ , but alas, only one issue published.” 

“Stupid children,” Skeeter muttered, standing up and storming out of the pub. 

The three stood in silence before Hermione broke it by saying, “You do realize she’ll just figure something else out.”

“Yeah, but if everything she ever writes for goes under, well, she won’t be writing for long,” Draco pointed out. 

“She will if Time wishes it,” Luna said. “Bye.”

Luna turned on her heels and flounced off in the crowds. Hermione grabbed Draco and dragged him out into the street where they found Harry and Sirius both laughing so hard, they were on the ground clutching their middles. 

“You do know that is rather unseemly behavior for the head of the Black Family,” Draco drawled. 

“Oh, shut up,” Sirius said, wiping his eyes. “I haven’t had that much fun in years.”

“Gibberish,” Harry choked out and starting laughing again. 

Hermione sighed in time with an invisible Tom. Sirius rolled his eyes, pushing himself to his feet and dusting himself off. He helped Harry to his feet then turned to face the Draco and Hermione. 

“Okay, well, I’ll likely pay for that, won’t I?”

“Who knows? DeVinette’s got her black listed on almost every reputable publication in the wizarding world,” Draco explained. “And even the unsavory ones he’s put out of business.”

Sirius glanced at Harry’s pocket and said, “Remind me not to piss him off.” 

Tom snorted. 

“Well, since the publication went under, shouldn’t Hagrid be thrilled? He’s still not come back to class,” Harry said, frowning. 

“Let’s go speak to him,” Hermione suggested. “He might not know, as I wasn’t aware the publication had gone under either.”

“You weren’t aware of it in the first place,” Draco reminded the bushy haired girl at his side. 

She huffed and rolled her eyes, stomping off. 

After saying their goodbyes to Sirius, Draco and Harry followed after Hermione, who was now storming back towards the school like a woman on a mission. In no time at all it seemed, the trio was standing in front of Hagrid’s front door. The curtains were still drawn and the place looked as if no one was home. By the time Draco and Harry caught up with Hermione, she was pounding on the door and shouting over the noise of Fang.

“Hagrid! I know you’re in there! Nobody cares if your mum was a giantess, Hagrid! You can’t let that foul Skeeter woman do this to you! The publication isn’t even around any longer! Hagrid, get out here, you’re just being—”

The door flew open, causing Hermione to stop speaking and issue a rather loud speak, as instead of being face to face with Hagrid, she was faced with Albus Dumbledore.

“Good afternoon,” he pleasantly said, smiling down at the three of them.  

“We, er, we wanted to see Hagrid,” Hermione said in a small voice.

“Yes, I surmised as much. Why don’t you come in,” Dumbledore said, eyes twinkling. He stepped back and allowed the trio to enter. 

Fang instantly launched himself at Draco the moment he entered, almost knocking him to his behind. By the time Draco had managed to fend off the dog, Dumbledore had shut the door, seated Harry and Hermione at the table with a blotchy faced Hagrid and was puttering around fixing tea. Draco fixed himself with his wand (he was covered in drool) and slipped into a spot at the table clearly left blank for him. 

“Now, Hagrid, did you happen to hear what Miss Granger was shouting?” Dumbledore asked as he waved his wand and a revolving tea tray appeared in midair along with a plate of cakes (and not rock cakes). He set these items down on the table and took the kettle off the fire, pouting the water right into the tea pot he’d magicked up. 

Hermione blushed. 

“Hermione, Harry, and Draco still seem to want to know you, judging by the way they were attempting to break the door down,” Dumbledore went on. 

“Of course we want to know you!” Harry exclaimed, staring at Hagrid. “You don’t think we’d not want to know you just because you’re mum’s a little tall?” 

Two fat tears leaked out of Hagrid’s eyes and fell into his tangled beard. 

“Honestly, Hagrid,” Draco said, feeling a little uncomfortable. “You’ve never done anything that should cause you to hide out and be ashamed. Anyone with two brain cells knows you’d never hurt a fly.” 

Everyone stared at Draco as if he had started speaking gibberish. His cheeks heated up. 

“Living proof of what I’ve been telling you, Hagrid,” Dumbledore said, staring at Draco as if he were an alien. “I’ve shown you the letters from countless parents who remember you from their own days here, telling me in no uncertain terms that if I sacked you, they would have something to say about it.”

“Not all of ‘em,” Hagrid hoarsely said. “Not all of ‘em wan’ me ter stay.”

“If you’re holding out for universal popularity, I’m afraid you will be in this cabin for a long time,” Dumbledore said, peering sternly over his half-moon spectacles. “Not a week has passed since I became headmaster of this school when I haven’t had at least one owl complaining about the way I run it. But, what should I do? Barricade myself in my study and refuse to talk to anyone?”

“But yeh’re not a half giant!” Hagrid rebutted. 

“Hagrid, you can’t pick your family,” Harry said. “Look at who I’ve got for relatives!”

Hagrid frowned. 

“The Dursleys!” Harry clarified. 

“An excellent point,” Dumbledore agreed. “My own brother, Aberforth, was prosecuted for practicing inappropriate charms on a goat. It was all over the papers, but did Aberforth hide? No, he did not. He held his head high and went about his business. Of course, I’m not entirely sure he can read, so that might not have been bravery…”

Harry and Draco exchanged looks, while Hermione sneezed loudly to cover up the noise Tom made at that comment from Harry’s pocket.  

“Come back and teach, Hagrid,” Hermione said, pretending to wipe her nose. She stowed away her tissue. “We really miss you.” 

“Yeah, we do,” Harry agreed. 

Hagrid looked at a loss on what to do. 

Dumbledore stood up. “I refuse to accept your resignation. I expect you back at work on Monday. You will join me for breakfast at eight-thirty in the Great Hall. No excuses. Good afternoon to you all.”

Dumbledore left the cabin and Hagrid began to sob into his dustbin-sized hands, going on and on about how great a man Dumbledore was while Hermione patted his arm. After Hagrid got control of himself, he offered up the cakes and tea Dumbledore had left behind and the trio happily chatted with the man, letting him know what Sirius had done just that afternoon to put Skeeter in her place. 

“Yeh say the magazine gone under? Wonder why?”

Hermione looked a bit lofty as she said, “I hear she’s made a rather powerful enemy out of T.R. DeVinette.”

Hagrid frowned. “Why does he give two shakes about me?”

“I think he cares about the school,” Harry quickly said. “Who knows what she did to him, but she’s not been published in the paper or any well known publication since, well, before the tournament began.”

Hagrid nodded. “She didn’t like those journals he translated. But, didn’t think it was anythin’ that bad.” 

Harry looked clueless and shrugged, stuffing a cake into his mouth. 


	20. Down By the Lake

**Disclaimer: If you know it, I do not own it and it is likely from Goblet of Fire by JKR.**

* * *

“Draco!”

Draco batted at the source of the annoying voice near his ear. He was sleeping.

“Draco! Get up!”

“Go away.”

“I’ll stick Tom on you.”

Draco’s eyes flew open to find a grinning Harry Potter. Draco narrowed his eyes and glared. “What do you want, Oh Insane-One-Who-Doesn’t-Sleep?”

Harry produced the golden egg, smiling like an idiot. “I listened to it underwater in the Prefect’s bathroom. I want that bathroom. They’ve got a swim pool size bathtub!”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “And you woke me up because?”

“Oh, I ran into Snape and Moody. Because I had my egg with me and reeked of bubble bath, Moody didn’t rat me out—I was under the Cloak, which he can see through, Snape can’t, but he knew someone was around…where was I? Oh, it turns out someone is stealing from Snape’s stores.”

“What?”

“Yeah, and it’s not just Gillyweed. He did notice that was missing, but he blew it off as some stupid students doing dunderhead worthy things. Snape was more concerned about broomslang and fluxweed. And I guess his stewed lacewing flies are missing as well.”

“Harry…those are ingredients for polyjuice potion.”

“I knew you’d know what it made,” Harry breathed, setting the egg on Draco’s bed.

“Why didn’t you just have Tom tell you?”

“He’s with Atlanta. I don’t have him,” Harry said, giving Draco a cheeky grin. Draco huffed, falling backwards on his bed. “Anyways, do you reckon Crouch is stealing from Snape whilst he is here?”

“Could be,” Draco allowed. “Though, how’s he getting in here and getting it?”

“During the tasks?”

“Sure, but for Snape to be so concerned, things must be going missing on a regular basis,” Draco realized.

“Maybe he’s dressing up as a student to get to them?” Harry suggested. “I just thought you ought to know. Snape was mad because someone keeps breaking into his stores and Moody keeps searching them.”

Draco quirked an eyebrow.

“Moody is searching everyone’s offices it seemed like from what Moody said to Snape. He yelled ‘constant vigilance’ and Snape stormed off. Then I went to Moody’s office and we talked about the egg and he hinted heavily he thought it was me who stole the Gillyweed.”

Draco eyed Harry.

“He didn’t seem to be mad, though. He made some comment he understood why I didn’t just ask, but to try not to steal anything else from the greasy haired bat,” Harry said, snickering. “He actually called him that.”

Draco frowned. “He’s not that greasy haired.”

“But, you can’t deny he channels a bat.”

“No. I can’t.”

“If you become a prefect again, can you sneak me in to use the bathroom?” Harry asked, eyes gleaming. 

“Sure. Why not?” Draco said, rolling his eyes. “I thought you couldn’t swim?”

“I can’t, doesn’t mean I don’t like a huge bathtub with all those bubbles. Wizarding stuff is seriously amazing.” 

Draco rolled his eyes.

“Can I go to sleep yet?”

“Oh, yeah, sure. We ought to mention this whole steal from Snape thing to Hermione and Tom, right?”

“Yes. Tom can dwell on it,” Draco grumbled. “Now, go to bed.”

* * *

“This confirms our assumption Crouch is using polyjuice potion to impersonate his father,” Tom decided after Harry had told him about the missing ingredients from Snape’s stores. “You say he said they were going missing regularly?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, fiddling with the hem of his school robe. 

Harry and Tom were seated in an abandoned corridor in a window seat that had so much dust collected in it, Tom was sure the last time it was cleaned indoor pluming hadn’t been invented. He was sure he and Harry would be able to speak without being interrupted. 

“Well, it is clear he’s been using it since he first set foot here,” Tom said, the gears turning in his head. 

“Yeah, but why steal it from Snape?”

“Neither Crouch is a Potions Master. It wouldn’t look good if Crouch was seen buying those sorts of ingredients,” Tom said. “If he wasn’t constantly trying to be his father, then I bet he could get away with buying them not all at once, but if he’s constantly impersonating his father, then he would need to always have them on hand.”

“So, Mr Crouch is still alive, then?” Harry inquired, drawing shapes in the grime on the window. 

“Highly likely if he’s still stealing from Snape,” Tom said, sighing a little as he watched Harry channel a five-year-old. He was drawing smiling faces on the grimy widow for some reason. “Also, Junior is not likely doing the stealing himself. Snape’s wards are being tripped. So, he knows it’s not one of his Ravenclaw classes. Yet, in order for the person to be able to get away, after tripping the wards so many times, they must be an sixth or seventh year as they’d be the only ones capable of masking themselves. Well, besides you.” 

Harry smirked.

“He honestly wasn’t worried about the Gillyweed?” Tom inquired. “GIllyweed is expensive and controlled.”

Harry shrugged. “He just figured some student was doing something stupid. What can you do that’s stupid with Gillyweed? From what I can tell, it’s only use is to breathe under water.”

Tom shook his head at Harry’s naivety. 

If only he’d stay so innocent. 

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?” Harry asked, finger dropping from the grimy window. 

“No reason,” Tom lied. “I would appreciate if you could search out a way I could watch Snape’s stores and see who is stealing from him.”

“Like throwing you back in there?” Harry asked, cheeky smile on his face.

“Good lord, no.” 

“Fine. I’ll figure out something.”

Two days later, Tom was sitting in a closet (a little better than the store room) when he witnessed Angelina Johnson, a Gryffindor, break the wards on Snape’s office after putting herself under the Disillusion Charm. 

* * *

“Angelina?!” Harry shouted. 

“Hush,” Hermione scolded. “She’s likely not acting under her own accord.”

“But she’s a Gryffindor!”

“Yes. She’s likely to break the rules, be a little reckless, and the perfect scapegoat if she gets caught,” Draco pointed out. 

“No wonder she looked confused when everyone congratulated her for entering the tournament,” Hermione breathed. “She didn’t remember.”

“So, how’s he doing it?”

“ _Imperious_ curse, likely.”

“But, Crouch wasn’t here last night,” Harry pointed out. “I looked on the map.”

Tom frowned.

“He’s got you there, Riddle,” Draco drawled. “You have to be on hand to activate that one.”

“Ah, but once it is placed upon a victim, you don’t constantly need to be close by,” Tom pointed out. “Hence the trouble with the curse. He might have some sort of enchanted method of communication he uses to put his orders into effect.”

“Where did Johnson go after she left Snape’s office?”

“I do not know,” Tom replied. 

“I fell asleep before anyone came by the office,” Harry admitted, looking glum. 

“So, Crouch might have been on school grounds,” Hermione whispered.

“He might have been Angelina,” Tom realized. “He could have her hair. It’d be simple to chop one of those blasted braids off without her noticing if she passed close enough. He might be pretending to be her and sneaking into the school.”

“How?” Harry asked.

Tom leveled Harry a look that could peel paint. “Your father wasn’t the only soul to know of those secret passages in and out of Hogwarts, Potter.” 

Harry frowned, but didn’t refute the statement. 

“So, basically, we’ve got nothing,” Draco groaned.

“Well, at least we know Mr Crouch is alive if Junior is still parading around as him,” Hermione pointed out. “Tom, at the task, you’ll going to have to watch Crouch for us, as we might not be there.”

“Where are you going?” Harry asked.

Everyone groaned. 

* * *

“You need to calm down,” Draco chided the evening before the second task. “Why are you getting so worked up?”

Harry stared blankly at Draco for a moment. “Shouldn’t I be?”

“He’s right,” Hermione agreed, flicking pages in a book. “We must keep the guise up that we’re panicking because we don’t know what we’re going to do. Even if Moody suspects Harry already knows what he plans to do.”

Draco scratched his ear. “I see your point. Continue panicking.”  

“I will. Also, remember?”

“What?”

“I don’t know how to swim.”

Hermione’s head snapped up. “You don’t?”

Harry shook his head. “It won’t be bad when I’ve got the Gillyweed in my system, but what if it runs out? I’ll drown likely.”

“No, Dumbledore won’t let you drown,” Hermione insisted, looking to Draco to agree. 

“She’s right. Don’t worry. You’ll likely be able to get back before the hour is up and you’ve got enough Gillyweed for a whole hour.” 

Hermione nodded as if it closed the conversation, going back to flicking through a book. Draco started to do the same while Harry simply sat there and worried his fingernails. Draco wasn’t sure how long the trio sat in the quiet library till Hermione slammed her book shut and asked, “Who on earth wants to make their nose hairs grow into ringlets?”

Draco glanced at the book’s title, _Weird Wizarding Dilemmas_ , and snorted.

“I wouldn’t mind,” came one of the twin’s voices from behind Draco. “Be a talking point, wouldn’t it?”

Draco turned and looked over his shoulder to find the twins standing behind them, one of them snatching up the book Hermione had just closed.

“What’re you two doing here? In the library?” Harry asked, looking between the two in bemusement. “Is the world ending?”

One of the twins snorted, taking the book from his brother. “Looking for you lot.”

“McGonagall wishes to be graced with the presence of Draco and Hermione.”

Draco and Hermione exchanged glances.

“What?” Harry squeaked. “Already?”

The twins stopped looking at the book and stared at Harry in confusion. 

“It’s too early! You can’t go yet!”

“Is he alright, mate?” one twin whispered to Draco.

“No. He’s Harry Potter,” Draco said, gathering his belongings up. “Harry, calm down. She likely simply wants a word about how we’re helping you too much.”

“Yes, that might be true,” Hermione agreed, her cheeks very pink. “You ought to be working alone.”

“Right,” Harry agreed uneasily.

“We’ll see you tomorrow, then,” Hermione said, picking her own bag up.

The twins eyed Draco and Hermione in suspicion for a moment. 

“I’ll see you tonight. Be sure not to sleep here,” Draco said, turning and waiting for the twins to lead them to McGongall. After exchanging looks, the twin with the book put it back on the table and the pair led them out of the library. Once they were in the hall, Left Twin asked, “So, you seem to know what’s going on, then? He tell you the egg’s clue?”

“No,” Draco said. “He’s just worried he’ll have to swim.”

“Swim?” Right Twin asked. 

“He can’t swim,” Hermione supplied. “We’re trying to find spells to help him swim. In case he must.”

The twins exchanged looks of glee and began to whisper between themselves as the group made their way to McGongall’s office. 

“Well, here’s where you’re off. See you bright at early at the lake!” Left Twin said gleefully. 

Hermione pressed her lips together and waited till the twins had vanished around the corner to ask, “Do you think we gave too much away?”

“No. While hard to think why Harry would be worried about swimming if the lake wasn’t involved, it still doesn’t tell them what or why. Or, for all we know, they could build some sort of magical pool for Harry to swim in. All we know is Harry can’t swim and he needs to. Or thinks he needs to. They jumped to the conclusion about the lake being involved.”

Hermione sighed and pushed the door open. They entered the office to find two other people sitting in front of the fire already: Cho and a blonde girl who looked a lot like Delacour. 

“Ah, you’re here!” Dumbledore beamed, coming out of a dark corner of McGonagall’s office. “Now, I’ll let you know about the second task, then you’ll sleep. You’ll be perfectly safe.”

And he spilled the beans. Hermione turned bright pink, Cho paled, and the little girl looked terribly frightened by the time Dumbledore was done explaining what the second task would entail and their roles were in the entire thing. 

“Now, let me say once more: you will be safe. There will be no way for any harm to come to you even if your champion fails to make it to you in time. The enchanted sleep will only end when your head breaks the water surface, so there is no fear of drowning. Now, let’s get you all to sleep.”

The last thing Draco remembered was Dumbledore tapping his head with his wand. The next thing he knew he was cold, wet, and gasping for air as he broke the surface of the lake. 

“Whoever had the smashing idea,” Draco chattered, his teeth rattling in his mouth, “for a water based task in February ought to be cursed. With something unpleasant.”

He was met with no response other than something insistently pushing him forward toward the shore. Looking down he noticed Harry in bright red pushing and pushing at Draco with a hand that was clearly still channeling a fin. 

“Oh,” Draco realized, glancing at the shore as his instincts kicked in and he began to tread water. “The Gillyweed didn’t wear off yet.”

Draco felt Harry nod and sighed. 

“Okay, well, you hang out in the shallows till you loose your gills,” Draco suggested and the pair began to move towards the shore. Draco didn’t even make it ashore before Madam Pomfrey grabbed him and hauled him out. 

“Potter!” she screeched in Draco’s ear. 

“His Gillyweed is still active. He can’t breathe above the water,” Draco said, rubbing his ear. 

Satisfied (as much as she could be) with that answer, Madam Pomfrey began to tend to Draco, wrapping him up in a thick blanket and handing him a smoking potion. No sooner was Draco all cared for, Delacour was dragged to the surface by something. She was hysterical, fighting tooth and nail to get away from whatever had her. Dumbledore hurried out, grabbed her, and handed her off to Madam Pomfrey and Madame Maxime. 

“I must go back! I must go back!” Delacour shouted over and over. 

Draco pulled the blanket closer around him and shivered while Delacour was bullied into her own blanket and the smoking potion was poured down her throat. Her face was scratched up and her clothes were ripped— the Grindylows had gotten her again. 

The next champion to return was Diggory, who broke the surface with his head still in his Bubble-Head Charm. Madam Pomfrey gave up on calming down Delacour and left her with Maxime in favor of tending to a beaming Diggory and waterlogged Cho. 

“That was horrible,” Cho breathed when she was placed next to Draco on the shore. “Where is Harry?”

“Still in the water. He’s still got gills,” Draco replied.

Just as Draco spoke, Harry shot skywards, gasping for air and almost falling face first back into the water. He only failed to do so because Madam Pomfrey grabbed him and hauled him to shore, tutting at him the entire time. 

“I’m a minute late,” Diggory sighed, sitting down on Cho’s other side. “Guess Harry took enough for an hour, huh?”

“Yes,” Draco answered. 

“That was rather genius,” Diggory went on, gulping down the smoking potion. “I’m surprised he thought of that.”

“He’s rather surprising.”

Harry managed to escape from Pomfrey and sat down on Draco’s other side, eyes scanning the calm lake surface. 

“Krum’s next,” Harry whispered behind the guise of taking a sip of the smoking potion. 

Draco nodded. 

“And Fluer’s sister?”

Draco rolled his eyes. “She’ll be brought up by the mermaids.”

Hopefully. 

Harry nodded, gulping down the potion and causing smoke to pour out of his ears. 

As Harry’s ears stopped smoking, a shark headed Viktor Krum broke the surface, hauling a waterlogged Hermione with him. She looked terrified when she opened her eyes to see what was dragging her towards the shore. Draco clamped a hand over his mouth in order to not laugh out loud. 

Krum got Hermione to shore, where Madam Pomfrey grabbed her, wrapped her in a blanket, threw her next to Harry after handing her a smoking goblet, then went to deal with Krum’s head problem. 

“Well, that was…” Hermione began.

“Cold?” Draco offered. 

“Anti-climatic?” Harry asked.

“Weird,” Hermione said through chattering teeth before gulping down her potion. Smoke poured out of her ears, quickly drying portions of her hair. “Did you make it back within the time limit?”

“Yeah. With time to spare,” Harry grumped. 

Krum, now with his own head back on his shoulders, sat down wrapped in a thick blanket next to Hermione. 

“You haff a water beetle in your hair, Herm-own-ninny,” Krum said in a low rumbling voice. 

Hermione jumped and screeched, her blanket falling away in her quest to rid herself of the beetle. Draco, knowing who that beetle was, tried to find it before Hermione committed murder, but failed. Mostly due to the fact in her quest to get the beetle out of her hair, she toppled into Krum’s lap. 

“I want to know my score so I can leave,” Harry grumbled, failing to notice the fact Draco was seeing green or that Hermione was seated in the lap of a famous Quidditch player who’d just rescued her from the lake. (And maybe a beetle. Or just a gossip monger who masqueraded as a reporter. And a beetle.) 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” came Bagman’s amplified voice, “we have reached our decision. Merchieftainess Murcus has told us exactly what happened at the bottom of the lake, and we have therefore decided to award marks out of fifty for each of the champions as follows…

“Fleur Delacour, though she demonstrated excellent use of the Bubble-Head Charm, was attacked by grindylows as she approached her goal, and failed to retrieve her hostage. We award her twenty-five points.”

Applause sounded, but Fleur hung her head, her face hidden by her still wet silvery hair. Next to her, patting her arm, was her little sister, unharmed but shivering. Strangely, out of all of them, her little sister was the driest. 

“I deserve zero,” she throatily muttered. 

“Harry Potter was first to return with his hostage, having found the hostages first. He used Gillyweed to great effect, but clearly did not plan to find the hostages under the hour limit, thus he remained in the water and did not return to land till two minutes outside the time limit. However, since he was first to return and his hostage was fine, we award him forty-nine points.” 

“One point off for not getting out of the water on time,” Hermione muttered next to Draco, having extracted herself from Krum. 

The Gryffindors in the crowd went wild, along with a few others. 

“Cedric Diggory, who used the Bubble-Head Charm, was second to return with his hostage, but returned a minute outside the time limit of an hour.” Enormous cheers from the Hufflepuffs in the crowd and Cho gave Cedric a glowing look. “We therefore award him forty-seven points.” 

“What’d he get off for?” Harry asked, looking confused. “We technically arrived at the same time. Well, almost.”

“I arrived a long time before he did and he didn’t do the charm properly,” Draco whispered as Bagman began talking about Krum using the incomplete form of Transfiguration. 

“It was nevertheless effective. He returned last with his hostage and we award him forty points,” Bagman finished. “The third and final task will take place at dusk on the twenty-fourth of June. The champions will be notified of what is coming precisely one month beforehand. Thank you all for your support of the champions.”

And it was over. Madam Pomfrey began to heard the champions and hostages back to the castle to get into dry clothes and pour more potions down their throats to ward off colds. Draco turned to speak to Hermione only to find Krum fawning over her. Hermione was smiling and blushing. Pressing his lips together, he stomped off, not bothering to hear Harry calling out behind him. 

* * *

The aftermath of the second task was that everyone wanted to hear what it was like to be a hostage, thus people kept pestering Draco to share the tale. No matter how many times he told them it was dead boring and he didn’t know of anything that had transpired under the lake as he’d been asleep, people still were under the delusion he knew what had happened. 

“If one more person asks me about merepeople, I’m going to shove my wand through their eye sockets,” Draco hissed a week after the task was over. He threw down a huge pile of books on the table in the library the group was gathered at and sat down. 

Harry snorted. “Poor Draco.”

“Well, at least no one is teasing you endlessly,” Hermione muttered. “It’s not…I don’t…”

Hermione trailed off. While Draco had been a jealous rage monster the first twenty-four hours after the task at any mention of Krum, from how tetchy Hermione had become under the microscope Krum had thrown her under, Draco felt a little better. He still had flares of jealousy when he’d spot them together reading in the library, but he was getting better at stomping on…whatever.

“So, Hogsmeade weekend is coming up,” Harry said loudly, trying to distract Hermione and Draco.

Draco was all for talking about something else, but Hermione didn’t want to speak about Hogsmeade. “What was Crouch during the second task?”  

“Uh, Hermione, we were all kind of busy,” Harry reminded the bushy haired girl. 

 “Have either of you spoken to Tom? He wasn’t busy,” Hermione hissed, lowering her voice as a group of third years walked by. They were a group of girls, who all shot Hermione a wide array that ranged from dirty to wistful. 

Draco shook his head and looked at Harry. 

“He’s been with Atlanta,” Harry admitted, frowning. “I gave the block to her before the task, but she hasn’t given it back to me. I haven’t actually see her this week. Have either of you?”

Hermione shook her head, glaring at the gaggle of girls who were whispering near by. “No. I haven’t been looking. I’ve been trying to catch up on all my work and avoiding…”

“Yeah,” Draco said quickly. “I’m sure the block has something to report.”

“Then why hasn’t he made Atlanta give it to me?” Harry asked. He lowered his voice further and asked, “Or had Atlanta tell me what was going on?”

Draco didn’t have an answer, but the third year girls finally left when Madam Pince found them and shooed them off since they weren’t doing anything constructive. 

Harry packed up and left shortly after the girls vacated. Draco remained with Hermione who huffed and tutted and made her usual study noises till Pince showed back up and threw them out. 

“We ought to continue looking for spells to help Harry through the maze,” Hermione said as Draco walked with her back to her tower. “It won’t be as easy as the last two tasks, as you don’t know what happened in the maze.”

“True. What do you think he’ll come across in there?”

“Who knows,” Hermione muttered. “And I know he won’t think it’s pressing seeing as he’s got a good long while before the last task, but everything hinges on him getting to that cup first.”

“And not touching it,” Draco reminded her. “That’ll be the hardest part.”

Hermione furrowed her brow. “How can it be the hardest part?”

“Hero complex,” Draco replied. “Even though he knows where it leads, he’s got that part of him that wants to save the world. Think, what is the best way to prevent the rise of Marv?”

“Stop him from actually coming back,” Hermione sighed. “But, Potter’s going to the graveyard made it possible for Marv to return. If Harry doesn’t go, Marv doesn’t come back.”

“Oh, he’ll come back. He just won’t do what he did the first time. He’s coming back,” Draco darkly said.

The pair came to a stop at the point where they had to part ways. 

“This time, though, we fight him differently. We have an advantage,” Draco reminded Hermione, seeing she was pale and looked a little frightened. “His return has to be a fixed point. But, since we know who is the servant, what they are going to do, we can control the outcome.”

“And make sure Cedric doesn’t die.”

“And make sure Harry doesn’t do what Potter did last time,” Draco added. “Or even what Marv did last time. Whatever spell he used…made him horrible and worse. Remember what Tom told us before school began? The spell he uses needs a willing servant’s limb and an enemy’s blood.”

“Harry’s blood,” Hermione breathed, pressing her fingers to her lips.

“He can use anyone’s blood, but he’ll want Harry’s. That is our goal,” Draco said, taking a step closer to Hermione. “Keep Harry’s blood in his own body and away from The-Mad-Wannbe-Dictator.”

Hermione looked up at Draco, her brown eyes wide. She nodded. “You’re right.”

“So, after we hunt Tom down and get him to tell us about Crouch, we’ll start teaching Harry more spells. Lots of defensive spells. Useful things,” Draco offered, hoping to make her a bit more sure of the situation. 

Hermione nodded, a look of grim determination appearing. “I’ll research what we ought to teach him. I think we can wait till after the Hogsmeade trip.”

“Yeah. It’ll give us time to find useful things and give Harry a break.”

Hermione nodded and bade Draco a goodnight. Draco hitched his bag up on his shoulder and headed for Gryffindor Tower. 

* * *

“Hey, Atlanta,” Harry greeted. 

Tom let himself drift to the surface for a moment to see if Malfoy was with Harry. Harry was alone. 

Tom had been feeling irrational as of late. That made his frustrated, which only made him angry. It was a vicious cycle, so he’d stayed with Atlanta after the task was done. He had nothing pressing to share. He’d watched Crouch and the man had behaved as he usually did, only half paying attention and working till the task was over and it was time to talk the mermaid in charge. Since the task took over an hour, Tom had made sure to watch if he drank anything—which he did. No one had noticed, save Tom and Atlanta. 

Atlanta hadn’t asked Tom if he wanted to be given to Harry, nor did she press him to allow her to tell Harry what they’d witnessed. She’d been as silent as he’d become since letting himself sink into choas.

He did not even understand his turmoil. If he didn’t know himself, he’d say he was jealous, which made no sense. He had no reason to be jealous of anyone or anything. 

Well, okay, maybe he had the right to be jealous of everyone who had a body, but his form did have it advantages. 

“Yes, Harry?” Atlanta asked, looking up from her History of Magic essay—which was the SAME THING Tom had written when he’d been a third year student back in the forties. 

“I was wondering, er, if I could, uh, speak to, er…”

Atlanta’s eyes glanced back and forth. They were in the Gryffindor Common Room, which was noisy and loud as usual. Tom detested it and he knew somewhere in Atlanta Lupin’s head, she did as well. Yet, unlike Addy Black, Tom could never feel Atlanta’s emotions, not even a hint. He figured it had something to do with their mismatched magic. While he didn’t miss being bombarded with emotions that weren’t his, he did miss having an indication of what the person he was riding along with was feeling.

“Oh, Tom?” Atlanta asked quietly, looking back at Harry. 

Tom felt something lurch inside of him at the sight of Harry. He wished he could close his eyes and turn away, but something in him made him stay where he was located—wherever that was. He still didn’t understand everything about how he was able to “travel” with either Atlanta.

“I will go. I should tell him I did see Crouch drinking,” Tom grumbled, letting Atlanta know he was leaving.

“Yes,” Harry whispered.

If either said anything between the time it took Tom to move between Atlanta and his wooden block, Tom failed to hear it and didn’t think it was important. Atlanta handed over the block and Harry hurried off, hopefully to the privacy of his bed. Tom kept his ear out and judged Harry was in fact going to the dormitory. When he heard the last whisper of the spells Malfoy had taught Harry to keep his bed silent to outsiders, Tom let himself out of the block. 

“Hi.”

“Hello.”

“Uh, so, you…I…well, uh…”

“Harry,” Tom said in a warning voice. 

“Where have you been?”

“With Atlanta.”

“It’s been a week.”

“I know. I’ve been…helping her,” Tom lied. 

“Oh, okay. So, uh…did you see anything with Crouch at the second task?”

“Yes. During the time he was there, he drank out of a flask he kept on his person. It was only once, but we were only out there for an hour. Polyjuice lasts an hour.” 

Harry nodded. “So, Junior was there?”

“Yes. Junior is also likely doing more of his father’s daily tasks since his so called illness,” Tom reported flatly. “It will be easy to say the flask is some sort of healing tonic he must take to maintain his health.”

Harry nodded. “So, not much we can do.”

“No, there is not much we can do. But, at least we know. At the third task, I’m sure after it’s all over and done, you can mention to Dumbledore you thought the health tonic smelled funny. Polyjuice potion does have a sent that’s usually quite foul.”

“Most potions do,” Harry grumbled. “So, uh, do you need to go back to Atlanta?”

Tom felt that feeling in his chest again—that strange tug and flop. He had no clue what it meant, but Harry looked rather pathetic for some reason. He wasn’t looking at Tom, but rather picking at his duvet, yet Tom knew if Harry looked up he’d have those stupid big green eyes he sometimes got. Puppy dog eyes. Clearly, Sirius had been training the brat. 

“No. I’ll remain with you for awhile,” Tom stiffly said. 

Harry’s shoulders lost the tension they’d been holding and he looked up at Tom and smiled.

Blasted Harry Potter.


	21. The Final Countdown

**Disclaimer: If you know it, I do not own it and it is likely from Goblet of Fire by JKR.**

* * *

Hermione and Draco allowed Harry a break from all things task related after he had relayed the information on Crouch, which lasted till around Easter when Atlanta handed Harry a letter after breakfast, which she’d clearly not read but had broken the seal. Harry frowned as Atlanta flounced off, looking at the parchment in question. 

“What’s this?”

“The response from Percy Weasley,” said a voice from Harry’s pocket. 

Harry jumped five feet off the bench. Several people stared at him as if he’d lost his mind. Sheepishly smiling, Harry sat back down on the bench and opened the letter. 

“Did you not know you had a Tom in your pocket?” Draco drawled, somewhat amused. 

“No.”

“I was placed here when she handed you the note. Now read,” ordered the voice from the pocket. 

“I’m reading, I’m reading,” Harry muttered, eyes scanning the parchment. He wasn’t at it for very long before he grumbled, “Well, that was useless.”

He tossed the parchment at Draco, who read: 

_As I am constantly telling the Daily Prophet, Mr Crouch is ill, but not invalid. He is sending regular owls with instructions when he doesn’t come into the office. I know it is odd behavior for him to fall ill, but he is quiet ill and I do not understand why so many people are spreading such appalling rumors about my superior. I hope you have a good summer term, Ginny, and you study hard for your final exams. Best not to follow in the steps of your remaining brothers at Hogwarts. OWLS and NEWTS count here in the real world._

_Happy Easter_

“Ginny sent the letter?” Draco asked, turning it over and finding it was indeed addressed to Ginny Weasley. 

“Yes. Atlanta requested she do it, after we wrote it together. Ginny sent it without question,” Tom reported. “Put it on the ground.”

Draco tossed the open letter on the floor and waited a moment till he heard Tom make a noise, then picked it back up. 

“Tells us nothing,” Tom grumped. “I told her to mention the flask, hoping to find out if the dolt noticed. Clearly not.”

“Get into your block,” Harry hissed under the table. “We’ve got classes.” 

“I do not have classes,” Tom pointed out, but went into his block nonetheless. Draco stuffed the letter into his pocket and hurried off to class. 

* * *

The remainder of the spring went by quietly. There were various news stories about the search for Bertha Jorkins, Crouch’s continued illness, and occasionally a blip from Skeeter—mostly in the form of vapid articles she wrote for _Witch_ _Weekly_ , another publication that clearly didn’t cross Tom’s desk. It was nothing of measure, except for the article about Hermione setting up a romantic triangle with famous wizards. Unlike last time, though, the story didn’t come out till the start of summer term, so Hermione did not even notice the evil looks, let alone the hate mail she was getting for she was too busy studying to be bothered. Luna took it upon herself to clean up the hate mail, taking gleeful pride in the creative ways she managed to get rid of some of the letters. 

“There was one filled with Blubber puss. It’s best she hasn’t noticed the fact she’s been getting more mail than just the paper,” Luna dreamily said one day as she drifted by Draco between classes. 

The last week of May, Harry appeared at the dinner table and said, “McGonagall told me to go down to the Quidditch field at nine tonight. Bagman’s gonna tell us the final task.”

Draco nodded. “I’m going to drag Hermione out of the library and feed her tonight.”

Harry snorted. 

“It’s been three days since I’ve seen her.”

“Really?”

Draco nodded. “I doubt she’s eaten much in those days.”

“What is she so worked up over?”

“I’m not sure. It’ll be hazardous to her health next year when we take the OWLS.”

“OWLS,” Harry repeated, looking mildly confused.

“Think A-Levels,” came a voice from Harry’s pocket. Draco rolled his eyes. Luckily, it was still loud enough in the Great Hall, no one noticed the fact Harry’s pocket was talking. Again. “Or at least that is what Atlanta compared them to once.”

“Oh!” Harry said, nodding in sudden understanding. 

“OWLS decide your path in life,” Draco went on, not bothering to ask what the heck A-Levels were. “And what classes you can take at NEWT level. So, of course, Hermione’s going to be totally mental and bonkers next year.” 

“But, you’ll take care of her,” Harry said, filling his plate with food. “Do you think he’ll let on what will be inside the, er, maze?”

Harry glanced around, making sure no one was listening. No one was. 

“No, not likely.”

Harry sighed. “We’re going to start working hard core on spells, yeah?”

A little worry crept into Harry’s expression and Draco realized they’d lapsed greatly in keeping Harry on track in learning more defensive magic. 

“Yes. We can talk about it after you meet Bagman tonight. I’ll try to drag Hermione out of her study zone to help, too.”

“Good. We need her,” Harry agreed. “For her sake and mine.” 

* * *

Draco found Hermione in the library and bodily dragged her off the kitchens to get something to eat. They wound up sitting in the kitchens for a good two hours, partly because the elves kept giving them food, partly because Hermione spent most of the time horrified she’d been lost in a study world for three days and not eating the food fast enough for it to remain warm. 

“You can’t let me do that!” she said for the millionth time. “We need to be working with Harry! He’s got less than a month, doesn’t he?”

“Exactly a month. Bagman told them tonight about the maze.”

Hermione’s brown eyes were wide. “Tomorrow we’ll get to work training him. Oh! I can study and teach at the same time. Okay. Good. Oh, thank you.”

An elf had placed a mug of hot chocolate in front of Hermione. The elf beamed and scurried off. 

“They sure do like to…serve,” she said, an uncomfortable look on her face. 

“Makes them happy,” Draco agreed. “And the House Elves here are very well cared for.”

“Yes, they are, aren’t they?” Hermione agreed. “But, they don’t get paid or sick days? Or vacation day?”

“I’m pretty sure they’d die if they were required to take a day off and they get very insulted when you offer to pay them. Granted, you get an odd Elf like Dobby who wants to be paid, but as long as he’s in the right family, he’s happy.”

“Dobby. He’s the elf that is obsessed with Harry, right?”

“Correct. He works for Sirius now and gets paid and one day off a month. Those were his demands. Mother was willing to pay him more, even though the concept was foreign to her.” 

Hermione digested this information before nodding and drinking her hot coco. 

* * *

“I think the twins are blackmailing someone,” Harry announced the next morning when he joined Draco at the breakfast table.

“Excuse me?”

“I ran into them when I was in the Owlery sending a letter to Sirius this morning—mostly telling him about the third task, officially, and letting him know Percy was useless. But, the twins were whispering and saying things that makes me think they’re blackmailing someone. I mean, I know they’ve been kind of obsessed with making money, but blackmail?” 

Harry looked at Draco imploringly, but Draco could only helplessly look back at him. 

Harry lowered his voice and asked, “Didn’t they open a joke shop last time around?”

“Yes.”

“Well, do you think they got the gold to open a shop from blackmail?”

Draco frowned. “It doesn’t seem much like them. Maybe you misunderstood?”

“I hope so. So, you dragged Hermione out and today we’re going to start researching spells to keep me alive in the maze?”

“Yes. She seems to think she can do two things at once.”

“Well, of course she does. She likely can.” 

* * *

As June wore on, the mood within the castle became tense and excited. Harry was, once more, rather green. From what Draco could tell, everyone was looking forward to the third task (clearly not knowing they’d be sitting around for three hours without being able to see what was going on within the maze), except those who knew what might be happening at the conclusion of the task. 

With this in mind, Harry threw himself into practicing all the curses and hexes Draco and Hermione (and a few Atlanta and Tom had suggested) had been trying to teach him with a new furor (while still being somewhat green). It was a few days before the final task, so Draco expected Harry to be a little green, but not as broody as he’d found Harry that evening. Draco was sure something had happened that afternoon, but Hermione hushed Draco each time he tried to ask what was wrong. 

“Do you feel more confident?” Hermione asked, looking up from her notes. She was studying for final exams while also trying to teach Harry the theory behind the hexes Draco was showing him. Hermione was the queen of multi-tasking. 

“A bit. I’d like it if my Reductor Curse was a little stronger,” Harry muttered, shooting off a Reductor Curse at a dummy, whose head flew off. “Isn’t it supposed to explode?”

“I’d not use it on a human being. Or anything alive for that matter,” Draco muttered. “Use it on the hedges after a Four-Point Spell.”

“Oh, I guess that makes sense,” Harry admitted. “Why don’t they teach us the wand spinning spell in class? I mean, it’d help if you get lost here during those first few weeks, right?”

“But what fun would that be?” Draco drawled, remembering how lost Harry had gotten when their first year. 

Harry scowled, but closed his eyes. A moment later a hedge appeared in front of him, the Room of Requirement honoring Harry’s request for a hedge to explode. Harry sent the hex at the hedge and it exploded, sending bits of twigs and leaves all over the place.

“Brilliant!” Harry crowed.

Hermione calmly cleaned the mess off her revisions. “Yes, you’ve gotten that one down. Try the freezing curse again.”

Harry grumbled, but helped Draco clean up the hedge mess (having been taught how to Vanish things early on in their Third Task Training when it became clear they’d need a quick method of cleaning up after themselves as they couldn’t always get into the Room of Requirement to practice). 

After another hour, Harry fell into a chair near Hermione while Draco Vanished the mess Harry had left behind after trying to freeze moving things—mostly oversized bugs. As soon as he was finished, Hermione began to nag Draco to study for final exams. Draco fell into a seat and accepted his school bag from Hermione. Harry took a moment to rub it in his face he got out of exams before he scuttled out of the room. 

“It’s not fair he doesn’t have to suffer exams,” Draco muttered. 

“Well, you already sat them once and passed, what’s the problem with doing better this time?” Hermione asked, looking as if she wasn’t really paying attention to Draco’s complaint. Instead she shoved a pile of notes and revisions at him and told him to get to work. 

* * *

Breakfast was loud the morning of the Third Task of Doom and Harry was a rather interesting shade of pea green when he appeared. 

“I cannot wait till this is over,” Harry grumbled.

“Did you read what happens next year?”  drawled Tom’s voice from Harry’s pocket.

Harry scowled at his pocket and didn’t respond. 

“Here, you must eat something,” Hermione insisted, sitting down on the other side of the table. She shoved some plain toast at Harry, who stared at his blankly, turning yet another shade of green. 

Draco and Hermione ate in silence till the post arrived. Several owls landed near Harry, all carrying good-luck cards from various people. Harry managed to read all of them before he found himself covered in orange juice. He looked up and across at Hermione, frowning.

“What was that for?” Harry asked, dripping orange juice all over the place. 

“Disgusting,” Draco muttered, quickly casting cleaning charms on Harry’s person. “Was that really called for, Hermione?”

“She’s in the paper,” Hermione breathed, her eyes darting back and forth. 

Draco waited a moment before another screech owl landed near by with his morning paper. Draco untied the paper, feeling his jaw drop at the sight of the headline.

“How did this get passed DeVinette?” Draco asked loudly so Tom was sure to hear from Harry’s pocket. 

“What?” Harry asked, looking between Hermione and Draco. 

“Skeeter’s saying you’re disturbed and dangerous,” Draco said, extending the paper to Harry, who took the paper. 

It would have been amusing to watch Harry read the article if Draco hadn’t known what damage the article would do in the coming months. 

“How did she witness…” Harry trailed off. “Oh. There was a beetle on the window ledge before I feel asleep.”

“You what?” Hermione asked. “I thought I’d taken care of that beetle.”

“Hermione!” Draco exclaimed.

“I didn’t to kill her, just scare her. Clearly, she’s alive and well,” Hermione grumbled. “So, you fell asleep in class?” 

“It was Divinations. And the room was so stuffy and hot,” Harry complained. “I had a dream…about Voldemort. When I woke up, my scar hurt quite a bit. I went to see Dumbledore.”

“And he said?” Hermione asked. 

“Not much,” Harry offered, but looked a bit dodgy. “But, seriously, Tom, I thought you’d shut her down?”

Draco felt something cold brush his leg and knew Tom had come out of Harry’s pocket.

“Give that here,” Tom ordered. 

Harry glanced around before putting the paper under the table on the ground for Tom to read. Every once in awhile, he would bend over and flip the page for Tom. Tom hissed several choice words (or at least Draco assumed they were choice words, as they were actually hissed and likely in Parseltongue judging my Harry’s shocked expression). 

“I don’t know how or why, but they will not be happy,” Tom said darkly as Harry handed the paper back to Draco. Who this “they” was, Draco didn’t know, but he was glad he wasn’t one of them. Still, it didn’t stop Draco from needling Tom a little. 

“What are you going to do? Walk through them?” 

Tom punched Draco in the leg, which was just as unpleasant as if he’d actually been punched. 

* * *

Draco headed off to his day’s exams without Harry (who usually sat in the back of the room pretending to read), as McGonagall had shown up as they were finishing breakfast to inform Harry they champions would be meeting with family members in the chamber off the Hall after breakfast. Harry was gone faster than one could say _Quidditch._

The day’s exams went as Draco remembered, only the atmosphere was giddier in a room full of Gryffindors than Slytherins. After his first exam was complete, he headed down to the Great Hall, where he was joined at the Gryffindor table for lunch by his mother, Sirius, and Harry, who was talking a mile a minute and looking very not green. 

“How have exams gone?” Narcissa inquired as she sat down next to Draco. She looked a bit off kilter sitting at a table she’d never sat at before in the Great Hall. 

“Well. I’m sure I remembered all the correct names for the goblin rebels. Though, a few I think I might have made up. Or not,” Draco admitted, reaching for a Cornish pastry. “Have you had an enjoyable morning?”

“Quite,” Narcissa said.

“It’s been awesome,” Sirius announced. “Great being back here.”

The part about being a free man this time was left unsaid. 

After a rather nice lunch, Draco went off to take his final exam of the school year and left his mother, Sirius, and Harry to whittle away the afternoon. Draco joined them after his exam and enjoyed the remainder of the afternoon till they all returned to the castle for the evening feast. Harry began to channel an olive and didn’t eat near enough to make Draco’s mother happy, but she let it go, finally focusing on Atlanta, who was seated next to Harry. 

As the last of the food vanished from the plates, Dumbledore stood up and silence fell in the Hall. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, in five minutes’ time, I will be asking you to make your way down to the Quidditch field for the third and final task of the Triwizard Tournament. Will the champions please follow Mr Bagman down to the stadium now.”

Harry slowly rose to his feet, looking a lovely shade of avocado, as the Gryffindors all along the table were applauded and wished him luck. Harry didn’t seem to hear them, as he was clearly walking to his death. 

“Is he going to be okay?” Sirius murmured, watching as Harry joined Bagman and the others at the front of the Hall. Bagman seemed to be thinking along the same lines, as he tossed Harry a worried look. 

“I sure hope so,” Draco responded. “He’s just nervous.” 

“And green. Draco, he’s seriously green.”

“Yeah, I noticed that,” Draco admitted. “He seems to be doing that often this year.” 

Five minutes passed. Dumbledore asked the rest of the school to follow him outside and down to the Quidditch field. Hermione managed to find Draco and grabbed his hand in order not to loose him in the crowd as they headed down to the field. Sirius and Narcissa were swept off when the Minister of Magic appeared and taken off to “prime seats” as as the Minister referred to called them. 

“I’m nervous,” Hermione admitted as they neared the field, which looked as it had last time: a maze of creepy, dark, gloomy doom. 

“Me too,” Draco agreed, filing into the front row of the student section, right across from the seats where many of the guests were seated for the evening. “This okay?”

“Yes. If…that happens we can get to him quickly,” Hermione said, nodding over to where Bagman was standing with the group of champions, who’d all be changed into uniforms of some sort for the task. Draco scanned the stands across from him and found Mr Crouch, who looked horribly ill. His skin appeared pasty, his eyes vacant, and he didn’t seem to notice anything Ministry Brown Noser was doing at his elbow. MBN was talking and typing away on a typewriter, not seemingly bothered by the fact his boss wasn’t listening or paying the least bit of attention to him. 

“Do you think that’s Crouch or Junior?” Hermione asked, having been doing the same thing as Draco. 

“I’m pretty sure that’s Senior,” Draco admitted. “Junior’s got a job to do tonight. He looks rather ill, don’t you think?” 

Hermione didn’t respond as Bagman began to loudly announce it was time to begin the third task. 

“So…on my whistle, off you go Harry! Three—two—one—”

There was a short blast of a whistle and Harry hurried off into the maze. Hermione grabbed Draco’s hand and gripped hard enough Draco was sure he might have a few broken bones by the end of the three hour long task. 


	22. Second Hand Third Task

**Disclaimer: If you know it, I do not own it and it is likely from _Goblet of Fire_ by JKR.**

* * *

Draco knew the moment Lord Voldemort called his followers to him. Snape right eye twitched and Karkaoff pitched forward, then looked terrified. His eyes darted back and forth, likely trying to figure out the best way to escape. 

“He’s back,” Draco muttered.   

“How much longer?” Hermione asked, somehow gripping Draco’s left hand even harder than she’d been. 

“I don’t know. Maybe an hour,” Draco whispered, noticing Ginny ushering a bone white Atlanta through the stands. Narcissa caught sight of the pair and quickly stood up, looking worried as she made her way over to Ginny. Sirius was looking around wildly till he locked eyes with Draco. Draco touched his left arm and watched the life leave Sirius’ eyes as he slumped forward and hid his face in his hands. 

“What’s wrong with Atlanta?” Hermione asked. 

“Maybe she knows he’s back too?” Draco suggested. “He did something to her, remember?”

Hermione frowned. 

The next hour passed very slowly. Draco spent most of it watching Crouch, who began to look a grey and continued to ashen as the minutes ticked passed. Draco was staring at Crouch when he heard the thump of bodies hitting the grass. His eyes snapped away from Crouch and he saw a sight he’d hoped would not repeat: Harry and a clearly dead Cedric Diggory. 

Harry didn’t move at all, simply pressed his face into the grass and gripped both the Triwizard Cup and Cedric’s arm. Draco, though, jumped into action. He freed himself from Hermione’s death grip and vaulted over the stand, sprinting toward Harry. Draco reached Harry at roughly the same time Dumbledore did. Draco glanced up into the stands and noticed Crouch was no longer sitting where he’d been station for the past three hours. 

“Crouch. Get Crouch,” Draco managed to get out before he collapsed next to Harry. Draco didn’t bother to make sure Dumbledore went to check on Crouch before he pressed his own face to the grass next to Harry’s and called, “Harry! Harry!”

Harry’s eyes were screwed shut, but at the sound of Draco’s voice, he turned his head and slowly opened his eyes. His eyes were bloodshot, haunted, and old. 

“I couldn’t stop him,” Harry whispered thickly. “I couldn’t stop him. I didn’t get there first.” 

“Harry,” Draco said for lack of knowing what to say. He couldn’t tell Harry it was okay, as it wasn’t okay at all. It’d never be okay. 

“He’s back,” Harry went on, letting go of the cup and drawing his arm to his side. “He’s back. Voldemort’s back.” 

Draco put a hand on Harry’s back as he heard what sounded like a pack of hippogriffs pounding towards them. 

“Can you sit up?” Draco asked. “And let go of Cedric?”

Harry’s grip on the body got tighter. “I said I’d bring him back. He wanted me to bring him back.”

“He’s at Hogwarts, Harry. You did as he asked,” Draco assured.

“What’s going on? What’s happened? Dumbledore?” Fudge’s voice demanded.

Draco had forgotten that doofus was here. 

“Mr Crouch is dead,” Dumbledore said flatly, appearing at Draco’s side. He couched down. “Harry?”

“He’s back. Voldemort’s back,” Harry repeated, actually lifting his head up off the ground to address Dumbledore. 

“Crouch is dead?” several people whispered. 

“What? Dumbledore, what’s the meaning of this?” Fudge went on. “What’s—Dumbledore! He’s dead! That boy’s dead.”

The words rippled through the crowd. It was whispered, then shouted, and then screeched.

“Harry, let go of him,” Fudge demanded. 

“Leave him be,” Draco shouted, glaring at Fudge, who had bent down to pry Harry’s fingers off the body. “Harry, you need to let go. You’ve brought him back. You’re at Hogwarts. Dumbledore’s here. Sirius is here.”

“You’re here,” Harry whispered and let go of Cedric’s body. “Cedric wanted me to bring him back. To his parents.”

“And you did,” Dumbledore said gently, rolling Harry onto his back before he helped him sit up. Once Dumbledore was sure Harry wasn’t going to keel backwards, he helped Harry to his feet. Draco followed suit. The crowd gathered around them was all fighting to get closer, pressing into the tight circle around the cup and Diggory’s body. Over the noise of people asking what was wrong or shouting about Diggory being dead, Draco could hear Sirius threatening bloody murder if they didn’t let him through. 

“He’ll need to go to the hospital wing!” Fudge loudly exclaimed. “He’s ill, he’s injured--- Dumbledore, Diggory’s parents, they’re in the stands…”

Draco rolled his eyes. He couldn’t help himself. 

“I’d would prefer—” 

“Dumbledore, Amos Diggory’s…he’s coming over. Don’t you think you should tell him, before he sees?” Fudge pressed.

“Out of the way!” Sirius bellowed, pushing through the crowd and entering the small clearing. His eyes took in everything quickly and he grabbed Harry by the shoulders and hugged the teen tightly.

“Sirius, remain here. I’ll return shortly and we will head to the castle,” Dumbledore said, his face tight and his age showing. 

Sirius nodded, letting go of Harry and looking the shell-shocked boy over. Draco finally really took a good look at Harry and saw he was favoring one leg and his left arm was covered in blood. 

“What happened?” Sirius faintly inquired, lifting Harry’s bloody arm up. “What did he do?”

“I—he—I—tried—failed…” Harry trailed off, sagging suddenly. Sirius caught him before he fell. Sirius wasn’t able to keep Harry upright so, both he and Harry sunk to the ground. “Tried…I couldn’t…he was….there…” 

Harry grabbed at the front of Sirius’ robs suddenly, looking rather bright eyed suddenly. 

“Where’s Tom?”

Sirius looked utterly bewildered. 

“He’s with Atlanta?”

“Yes,” Draco quickly answered. “Mother is with Atlanta. She left about an hour ago, looking rather ill.”

“He came back,” Harry whispered. “She must have felt that.”

“Sirius?”

Draco and Sirius looked up to find Dumbledore looming above them, the lines on his face deep and his eyes not twinkling for once. Sirius shifted Harry to his feet and quietly asking if he could walk. Harry nodded, though, it quickly became clear he’d done something to his ankle, as he couldn’t walk properly. Draco stood on Harry’s other side and between Draco and Sirius the two carried Harry to the castle. 

“To my office, I think,” Dumbledore said.

“Shouldn’t he go see Poppy first?” Sirius asked, frowning deeply. “His arm needs tending and his ankle—”

“I have a potion that will aid Harry. Before we allow Harry to heal and rest, we must know what happened tonight.”

Dumbledore was radiating power. Draco had never witnessed this side of Dumbledore up close and personal, simply had heard whispers of it. Never before did Draco really understand why the dotty, twinkling wizard was the one person Voldemort had feared. 

Draco understood now. 

“Harry also must understand,” Dumbledore added. “That is the first step to acceptance and only then can there be recovery. He must know who put him through this and why.”

“I know,” Harry croaked, clinging to Draco and Sirius. “It was Barty Crouch Junior.”

Dumbledore stared at Harry for a long beat. 

“Yes, I figured,” Dumbledore quietly agreed. “Mr Crouch was behaving rather strangely as of recent, but there are other things you must tell us.”

Harry frowned, but nodded. 

They made their way to the office. Once there, Dumbledore sent something silver out with instructions to Snape to bring the strongest Truth Potion he had and for McGonagall to gather a House Elf named Winky. 

Dumbledore swept around the desk and opened a drawer. After a moment he pulled out a bottle, which he unstopped and handed to Harry. 

“This will calm you.”

Harry eyed it for a moment. 

“It will mute your emotions as well,” Dumbledore added.

Harry downed the tonic. 

“As you might have heard, Mr Crouch is dead,” Dumbledore said flatly. “Harry, did Barty Crouch Junior tell you how he managed to escape from Azkaban?”

Harry shook his head, looking cool, clam, and collected, if a bit vacant. 

“I figured.” Dumbledore studied Harry for a moment. “Do you understand why you need to know how he escaped and how he came to be with Voldemort tonight?”

Harry nodded. 

The door opened and Snape walked in, followed by McGonagall and a familiar looking House Elf with a squashed tomato nose. She looked as if she hadn’t been taking care of herself, yet she was dressed in clothes, along with the usual tea towel Hogwarts House Elves wore. Badly kept clothes and tea towel (unlike Dobby who took pride in his clothes and the little badge he wore to show he worked for the Blacks).

Freedom did not agree with her in the least. 

Dumbledore produced a small chair and indicated for the House Elf to sit. She sat heavily, not bothering to meet Dumbledore’s eyes and kept staring at the floor. Snape handed the Truth Potion to Dumbledore who appeared as if he did not wish to do what he was about to do. 

“Winky, I must give you this potion and ask you some questions you will likely not wish to answer, hence why I must give you the potion,” Dumbledore said kindly. “But, as your new master, I am able to do this.”

She nodded, opening her mouth. With distaste clear on his face, Dumbledore dropped two drops of the potion on her tongue. Winky swallowed. A moment later, a strange look appeared on her face and she shivered. 

“You were once the Crouches’ House Elf?” Dumbledore inquired. 

“Yes, sir.”

“After Barty Crouch Junior went to Azkaban, how did he come to be free once more?”

Winky appeared to be struggling with herself, but the words flowed out of her mouth freely not matter what she did. 

“Mistress saved him. She knew she was dying, sir. She pleaded with Master to free Master Barty. He doing as she asked. They go to visit, they come back. Mistress turned into Master Barty and I was instructed to nurse Master Barty back to health.”

Winky suddenly fell to the floor and whacked her head against it.

“Mustn’t tell Master secrets!” she wailed. 

Dumbledore waited for her to finish before he asked the next question, “What did your master to do to subdue his son?”

“Spells. Master says Master Barty was being concealed and controlled. All Master Barty wanted was…to find…the Dark Lord.”

She whacked her head a few more times.

Dumbledore once more waited till she was done. “Did he use the Imperius Curse?”

“Yes, sir.”

She beat her head on the floor some more. 

“Were you always with Master Barty.”

“Yes, sir. He be bound to me. He is being good boy.”

Draco doubted that.

“Did anyone ever find out that Master Barty was alive and not in jail?”

“Yes. Nosy woman came to house. She nosing where she ought not. Master found out and did powerful Memory Charms.”

This time she whacked her head on the chair.

“Can I ask a question?” Draco asked.

Dumbledore made a motion with his hand that Draco was more than welcome. 

“Winky, was Master Barty with you when I met you at the Quidditch World Cup?”

“Yes, I was treating Master Barty. Master agreed, since he is being good.” 

“Did he escape that night?”

Winky gasped.

“And stole Harry’s wand?”

“I don’t know hows,” Winky said quietly, then whacked her head on the chair. 

“And he cast the Dark Mark,” Dumbledore stated flatly. Winky nodded. “And that was why your master freed you? Because you had failed to prevent Master Barty from acquiring a wand?”

“Yes, sir. I was failing House Elf.”

She looked miserable, fat tears rolling down her face. 

“You did not,” Draco snapped.

Everyone stared at him. 

“Winky you may go back to the kitchens,” Dumbledore said quietly. “Thank you for your information.”

Winky stood up from the floor and cracked off. Dumbledore stared blankly forward for a long time before he began to fill in blanks. 

“I assume after being left on his own with his son after Crouch fired his House Elf, his son threw off the Imperious Curse fully and found his way back to Voldemort. He might have run into Bertha Jorkins and found out about the Triwizard Tournament. She was also the only person other than his father who knew he was alive and not in jail.”

“Wouldn’t Crouch know from his father?” Sirius asked. 

“I doubt he told his son about the tournament,” Dumbledore said, looking up at them from where he’d been staring at his fingers. “Severus, please find Lady Malfoy and take her to the hospital wing, if she’s not already there. Tell her Harry and Draco will shortly join her and Sirius is currently with them.”

Snape nodded and swept out of the office. 

“Minerva, could I ask you to stand guard downstairs to head off the Minister?”

“Of course,” McGonagall said, looking slightly nauseous as she turned and headed out of the room. 

As the door shut, Dumbledore took a deep breath and looked at Harry. 

“Harry, tell us what happened from the time you entered the maze till you reappeared outside the maze.”

Harry began to speak in an unfeeling voice, recounting his evening. 

“I entered the maze and came up against a lot of things. I had trouble a few times and was almost taken out by an over zealous hedge, my fight with a huge spider left me with a twisted ankle, and I almost flunked the riddle the sphinx gave me, but I made it to the center of the maze. I didn’t move fast enough, though. Somehow Cedric had gotten to the cup before me. I took too long. Even blasting through the hedges, which was cheating technically, I failed.”

“What did you fail at Harry?”

“Preventing Cedric’s death.”

Dumbledore glanced at Draco before turning his eyes back to Harry. 

“After you saw Cedric and the cup, what occurred?”

“Cedric was reaching for the cup. If I hadn’t hurt my ankle at one point, I’d’ve been able to stop him, but I wasn’t quick enough with a busted ankle,” Harry lamented. “Cedric touched the cup. I got pulled along was because I threw myself at Cedric hoping to stop him. The cup was a Portkey to a graveyard. I tried to get Cedric to hide, to not stand there in the open with me, but he just thought it was part of the task, even though I told him it was not. I knew I’d come out alive—I have to, I’m a fixed point—but, Cedric…”

Harry trailed off, finally tearing his eyes off the blank spot he’d been staring and meeting Dumbledore’s gaze.

“I tried to push him out of the way, but Junior knew I’d try to save Cedric, so he shot in the direction he knew I’d push Cedric. So it still killed him. It is my fault Cedric died. I pushed him into the spell.”

Horror shot through Draco. 

“You did not cause his death, Harry,” Dumbledore quietly said. “You did not shoot the spell, you did not command his death.”

“No, but I pushed him,” Harry said. 

“To save him, not cause his death,” Dumbledore pointed out. “Choices, Harry. Remember it is in our choices we show who we really are.”

Harry went back to staring at the blank spot above Dumbledore’s head and continued with his story. 

“Junior tied me to a gravestone for a Tom Riddle. There were other stones, all for other Riddles. I figured I must be in whatever town the Riddles originated from, in their family plot. After I was secure, Junior went and got this ugly baby thing that had Voldemort’s voice and was giving Junior orders. 

“Junior began the spell. It was just like the spell Tom showed us last summer. And he was right, Voldemort changed it in order to change himself from the ugly baby to an ugly snake man. Junior cut my arm, took my blood for the blood of an enemy. He then cut off his own hand after he’d added bone of Riddle Senior—which had to be taken by force and without permission. Then, Voldemort rose from the over-sized cauldron that was set up in front of me.

“He’s white like a bone, blood red eyes, completely hairless, and no nose. He looks just as his face did when it was sticking out of the back of Quirrell’s head first year. Only, now he’s all tall and freaky looking. He’s not human.”

Harry shuddered. 

“Then what did he do?”

“Showboated.”

Dumbledore, for some reason, looked mildly amused. 

“After he had admired himself for five minutes, he used Junior’s Dark Mark to call the others to him. He said it was back and they must have noticed before he pressed his finger to the tattoo. That hurt my scar. The fact both Junior and I were in pain gave Voldemort satisfaction. He liked it. He then began talking, because he can’t shut up. He told me while we waited for his minions that I was standing on his father’s grave, which I’d figured out. Called him a Muggle and fool, who was like my mother. He said they both had their uses in death. My mum died to save me, his father’s bone gave him a new body.

“And he laughed, because duh, that was hilarious. He then pointed out that on the hillside behind me somewhere was where his father lived. His mother lived in the village, fell in love with him, but he left her when he found out she was a witch. He didn’t like magic.

“His father returned to his family home before Voldemort was born. His mother died giving birth to him and he was raised in a Muggle orphanage. He found his father at some point and killed him for giving him his name.”

Harry’s face was no longer calm and blank, but filled with something that looked as confusion.

“He didn’t know I knew this already. Tom told me. How are they so different?” Harry wondered. 

Dumbledore looked very confused. “Harry, who is Tom?”

Sirius tensed up, as did Draco. 

“My friend,” Harry replied easily. “He’s got a similar story to Voldemort, only he’s very different because he learned how to have emotions other than hate.”

If that wasn’t a very Dumbledore sounding answer Draco didn’t know what was. Dumbledore didn’t look very happy with the vague answer, but decided it wasn’t important.

“After Voldemort told you about his family history, what occurred?”

“The Death Eaters, his so called true family, showed up. They were all dressed up in masks and their hooded robes. They kissed his feet, literally. Then Voldemort went back to monologuing. He went on about how they all sucked because none of them found him in thirteen years, how they all were so worthless, lazy, blah, blah, blah. He claimed he was disappointed in them all, he tortured a few of them, then proceeded to tell me their names. Avery, Crouch, Lucius Malfoy, Macnair, Crabbe and Goyle Senior, and Nott. Those are the ones who showed up. He said five were missing and not in jail and of these five, three were dead in his service. He thought one left him forever and one was too cowardly to return ever. They will be killed.

“He then told them Crouch’s role in his return, gave him a silver hand for his trouble, and said in a lot of words how he’d used a hand, some blood and bone to bring himself back looking like a snake-man. He made a great show of telling his Death Munchers he could touch me now, even though I doubt they knew he couldn’t. And he did touch me, right on the scar and it hurt like hell. 

“He babbled about how he’d gone to kill me and I got the better of him from a protection he’d failed to foresee: my mother’s love. He admitted he’d miscalculated, but since he’d gone farther than anyone else to make himself immortal— freaky by the way— he didn’t outright die, but he was powerless and miserable. Less than a spirit, less than the meanest ghost. But he was alive, tragically. So, he figured he’d succeeded in conquering death.

“He went on to tell his munchers how he had been miserable for thirteen years and waited for one of his faithful family members to find him, but they didn’t. He was waiting in vain. So, he began to posse others, mostly animals and it was too dangerous to go human. Well, till he ran across Quirrell. Then he told that tale, which ended with me winning.”

Harry was quiet for a moment. 

“Then, on the night we captured Wormtail, he came across Circe Hilderbatch. She was curious about what was wrong with the snake he was living in. He realized instantly who she was and quickly possessed her. She had a strong mind, unlike Quirrell, yet was undeveloped in the Mind Arts, so he was still able to take over. During his time using Hilderbatch’s body, he came across Bertha Jorkins, who told him one of his faithful Death Eaters was alive and free-ish. Using Hilderbatch’s talent, he made himself the ugly baby body somehow. After he had the ugly baby body, he and Hilderbatch, who was now under the Imperious Curse, went back to the UK and sought out Barty Crouch, who was indeed alive and more than willing to serve his master once more. Having served her purpose, Voldemort made Barty dispose of Hilderbatch before going back to the charade of being under his father’s control. After the World Cup, Barty over powered his father and made his father do his bidding. 

“Voldemort had also found out via Jorkins about the Triwizard Trounament. Interrogating Crouch Senior confirmed the tournament was taking place at Hogwarts. It was too good to be true. Voldemort hatched his plan to use my blood in order to become an ugly snake man. Barty took some polyjuice potion and went to Hogwarts to assure I was entered under no school. He confounded a sixth year student to enter my name under no school, which would confuse the Goblet of Fire and spit my name out, assuring I would be forced to participate.”

“He told his Death Eaters all this?”

Harry stared at Dumbledore for a moment as if he was mental. “Of course he told them. He was bragging and pointing out how wonderful he is and what losers they are because he did this all on his own while channeling an ugly baby.”

Dumbledore looked mildly confused by Harry’s frankness (and odd sense of humor), but gestured for Harry to continue.

“Anyways, since the minions missed the old piece of Dark Magic he used to give himself back his old body, as he knew you destroyed the Philosopher’s Stone after his boggled attempt to steal it, he told them all about the spell, again in case they missed it the first time around, and how he wanted Harry Potter’s blood because it’s the best.” 

Draco put his hand over his face and shook his head. He had no clue what Dumbledore had given Harry to calm him and make him clear headed and emotionless, but it clearly didn’t make him _that_ emotionless, as his snark and sass was coming through loud and clear. 

“He said I was more protected than I knew and was hard to get, but Dumbledore would never expect someone as straight laced as Crouch Senior to be in league with Voldemort, so getting around these protections was laughable at best. And look, he’s got a body and he can touch me now…ain’t he just the best. Then he sent a _Crucio_ at me and went on to say it was stupid anyone to say I’d be his downfall.”

Harry focused on Dumbledore once more and shook his head.

“He’ll be his own bloody downfall. Hasn’t he ever watched a movie before? The villain who monologues always winds up dead or defeated. Duh.”

Draco groaned, putting his face in his hands again. 

“Harry,” Sirius prodded from behind.

“Anyways, so he bragged a little longer before he had a muncher untie me and said we were going to duel. This kind of made me panic a bit, as I had a twisted ankle and only dueled once in my life and Lockhart was there and it was a disaster. But, Marv wanted to duel, so someone gave me back my wand. The Death Munchers all gathered round in a circle, making it so I couldn’t run off. And then we dueled.”

Harry fell silent. Draco lifted his face out of his hand and stared at the boy next to him. 

“You just dueled. Like you did in the Great Hall second year?”

Harry glanced blankly over at Draco and snorted. 

“No. It was an unfair fight, but for some reason I knew he didn’t want to just shoot an AK at me and call it a day. He wanted to put on a show for his minions, so for some reason, he began to teach me how to duel. (He didn’t exactly wait for me to answer when he asked me if I knew how to duel.) After his long blown explanation on dueling, I bowed and got into the ready position I remember Snape showing us. Then, because I knew he wasn’t going to play fair, the moment he shot a spell at me, I hid behind a gravestone. 

“The spell hit the stone, exploding it. A Death Muncher grabbed me and threw me back in front and they closed ranks even more. So I got hit with _Crucio_ again. That sucked.”

“Understatement,” Draco muttered. 

“I kind of thought maybe I would die, but then again, Potter got out of this mess, so I was going to get out of the mess. Once I was able to think again, while Voldemort monologued some more about this and that while circling me, I remembered something.”

Here Harry smiled and it wasn’t a good smile. It was slightly creepy. 

“He told me to stand and I stood. I knew something he didn’t and it felt great. I’m not sure how I knew this was important and mattered, but I did. So, when he told me to face him like a man and meet my death, I did just as he asked. I think that kind of shocked him, but then he told me I was a foolish boy, etcetera, etcetera. I could tell he was growing tired of his game, so he was going to send one final spell to do me in. So, while he shouted the killing curse, I shouted one to Disarm him.”

Harry smiled again, making Draco’s skin crawl. 

“The jets of light met and suddenly I knew why Potter had escaped, I knew why Ollivander had made a point to tell me that Voldemort and I shared the same bird’s core. I had no idea what was happening, but it was brilliant and I knew it scared the crap out of Voldemort, so I held on to my vibrating wand and pushed the little bright gold ball that had formed in the center of the two connecting spells. I have no idea how I knew to push it towards him, but it was freaking him out further, so of course I did it. 

“We were lifted off the ground, wands still connected by a thread of shimmering golden light. We moved away from the tombstone of the Riddles and came to rest on a patch of ground free and clear of graves. The Death Idiots were shouting, running after us, asking for instructions from Voldemort. They reformed their circle, but Voldemort shouted for them to stay away. 

“More light began to spring from the wands and made this golden globe around us. It was a cage of light and it was beautiful. Voldemort began to fight, trying to break the connection, but I held on more tightly and began to refocus on pushing the little globe towards him. As it got closer to him, this unearthly and beautiful sound filled the air. It was as if it was coming from the strings of light. I knew the sound and melody. I’d heard it second year in the Chamber of Secrets. It was clear to me Voldemort also knew it, as the same thing happened to him that had happened to Diary Riddle: transfixion. The phoenix song, whatever it is, has the power to make him stop in his tracks.

“It told me, not through words so much, not to break the connection no matter what. So I did not. However, Voldemort snapped out of his stupor and began to try to push the bead of light towards me. No way, Jose. My wand shuddered, grew hot, but I pushed the bead of light with all my brain power towards Voldemort. My ears were full of the song, my eyes fixed on Voldemort’s fear filled red ones and all I could think was getting that bead of light into his wand. I don’t know why, but it made sense at the moment. I managed to push the bead into his wand. He looked so astonished and fearful, as the moment the bead hit the tip of his wand, it began to emit echoing screams of pain.

“He was so shocked. Then, he looked totally freaked as these dense, smoky figures began to fall out of his wand after an image of the hand he’d made Crouch fell out and vanished. These figures, though, they did not vanish as the hand had. No, they hung around. First, Cedric Diggory fell out, then a Muggle I didn’t know, Circe Hilderbatch, Bertha Jorkins, and finally my parents. After my dad fell out, the bodies stopped coming. Each one told me to hold on and said something snarky about Marv. The Muggle was shocked he was a wizard.

Harry snorted, before sobering up and going on with his tale.

“Their voices were distance and echoing. I knew they weren’t alive, or ghosts, but they comforted me. Oh and while they said nice things to me, I knew they weren’t saying such kind things to Voldemort. He looked even more freaked out and kind of annoyed.”

Harry fell silent for a moment, looking contemplative.

“My mum told me I was brave and she was proud of me. I knew it wasn’t really her, only an echo or something, but there was so much emotion I her eyes, I know it’s the truth. She was the one who told me the echoes were going to help me escape. She told me to grab the cup and it’d take me back to Hogwarts. Cedric asked me to make sure his parents got his body. My father whispered it was time to break the connection and go. And I did. I yanked my wand upwards, broke the connection and the golden cage vanished, the song died, but the shadowy figures of Voldemort’s victims did not leave. They all closed in on Voldemort and I ran. I knocked over two dumbfounded Death Eaters. This seemed to wake them up, so they shot spells at me but missed. I reached Cedric’s body, summoned the cup, and returned to school.”

Dumbledore regarded Harry over his half moon glasses for a long time before he spoke again. 

“Voldemort said your blood would make him stronger than anyone else’s because he said he’d have you’re mother’s protection, correct?”

“Yes, sir.”

For a fleeting moment, Draco thought he saw something that looked like triumph in Dumbledore’s eyes. It was gone before Draco could look again and Dumbledore was regarding Harry stoically. 

“Very well, he seems to have overcome that particular barrier.”

“Yup,” Harry agreed. “It still hurt like hell though.”

“And that is good,” Dumbledore replied. “If it hurts you, it hurts him as well. It will no longer kill either of you, though.”

“What was the thing with the wands?” Sirius asked, looking and sounding shell shocked. “I’ve never heard of anything like that before. And why did you think something was up with your wand? What did Ollivander tell you?”

“Oh!” Draco breathed. “You’ve got the twin cores. From the same bird.”

Harry nodded. 

“ _Priori Incantatem_ ,” Dumbledore muttered. “That’s the proper name for it.”

Sirius looked baffled. “The Reverse Spell effect? What’s got to do with the matching cores?”

Dumbledore smiled a little. “Harry’s wand and Voldemort’s wand share wand cores from the same bird. This bird, in fact.”

Everyone stared at the phoenix seated on its perch next to Dumbledore’s desk. The bird trilled, flapping its wings and landing near Harry’s knee. 

“My wand’s feather came from Fawkes?” Harry asked, looking at the bird and sounding amazed. The bird began to head butt his left arm, which Harry automatically turned over to the side that had the ugly cut on it. 

“Yes,” Dumbledore said as the bird began to allow thick silver tears to fall into the sluggishly bleeding wound. It quickly began to heal. “Mr Ollivander wrote to tell me you had brought the second wand the moment you left the shop four years ago.”

“So, what happens when the wands meet? They just Reverse Spell?” Sirius inquired. 

“In a sense. They will not work properly against each other,” Dumbledore replied. “If, however, the owners of the wands force the wands to battle as foe, a very rare effect will happen. One wand will force the other to regurgitate spells it has performed—in reverse.”

Harry nodded. “That’s pretty much what happened. It dumped out all the people he’d killed and the hand he’d made for Crouch Junior.”

Dumbledore nodded slowly, breaking his hands apart and setting them on his desk. “You will never be able to properly duel Voldemort because your wands are brothers.”

“What’s he going to do?” Sirius asked, worry in his tone.

Dumbledore glanced up and smiled sadly. “Voldemort will attempt to use another wand, failing to understand the relationship between owner and wands, nor will he likely understand what occurred tonight. Voldemort’s weakness is he dismisses certain branches of magic and deems them unworthy of his study. His failures are our successes.”

“So, he’ll never be able to kill Harry?” Sirius and Draco asked at the same time.

“Oh, he will try, but as long as Harry fights back, he won’t succeed,” Dumbledore lightly said. “Now, I believe a sleeping potion and some peace and quiet are called for, don’t you agree Harry?”

Harry slumped over in his seat suddenly, looking tired, ancient, and beat up suddenly. 

“I believe the potion I gave him has worn off. Sirius, if you do not mind taking him to the Hospital Wing? I’m sure you’ll find your cousin and Miss Granger waiting.” 

Sirius nodded. He coaxed Harry to his feet and the two exited the office. Draco shifted in his chair, suddenly aware of the full force of Dumbledore’s gaze was focused on him. 

“Draco, I’d like you to tell me who Tom is.”

Draco snapped his Occlumency barriers up without thought as he met Dumbledore’s gaze. The old man didn’t respond other than to press his hands together, his long, gnarled fingers standing straight up in the air. 

“I’m well aware there are many Toms in this world, one of them having re-entered the world of the living just this night, yet I do believe there was a rather important Tom Harry spoke of tonight and I cannot for the life of me figure out who he means,” Dumbledore lightly said. “You see, it seemed as if he was speaking of a different version of Tom Riddle. A very, very different version of Tom Riddle.

“I am curious because he said this Tom learned other emotions other than hate,” Dumbledore finished, looking down his crooked nose at Draco. 

Draco shifted a little, wondering what to do. Addy had never told Dumbledore about Tom for a reason. He wished he knew that reason. While Draco didn’t like Tom at all, Harry did. And Tom was somewhat useful as he had the knowledge of an adult, could go places none of them could, and do things none of them were able to due to being not solid. He had his uses. 

“Tom is Harry’s friend,” Draco settled on. “Just like he said. Similar story to Voldemort, but there are differences and these made all the difference.”

Dumbledore rested his chin on the tips of his fingers. “Differences.”

“Yes. Differences. Like people, situations, choices…those kind of things.”

“They do make all the difference,” Dumbledore muttered, lowering his hands to rest on the desktop. “Now, my biggest worry about this mysterious Tom: is he a danger to Harry?”

“No,” Draco said without needing to think about it. 

“You’re quick to answer,” Dumbledore remarked. “There was no Tom the first time you lived through this, was there?”

Draco shook his head. “No, sir. Circumstances have been changed due to…what I did.”

Dumbledore hummed, sitting back in the chair and placing his hands now on the armrests. “Tom is linked to Atlanta Black, is he not?”

“Which one?”

“The one from your original timeline that wound up in the 1970s and the only Atlanta Black I currently know. The Atlanta that currently attends here formally changed her name last winter to Lupin,” Dumbledore said as if they were talking about the weather and not illegal time travel and name changes. “I know you do not wish to tell a secret that is not yours to tell, and yet I am concerned this Tom might be working against you.”

“Why? What proof do you have of that?” Draco demanded. 

Dumbledore shrugged. “He’s Tom Riddle, is he not?”

Draco didn’t press on how Dumbledore had figured _that_ much out. The man was a genius. 

“That’s his name, doesn’t mean he’s the same as the snake faced one running around killing people,” Draco said flatly, feeling almost surreal defending Tom to Dumbledore of all people. 

“Is he not capable of being of becoming what Voldemort has become or is it he’s really changed so much from the boy I knew?”

Draco frowned, wondering if Dumbledore knew the Tom Riddle they were talking about was in fact a fourteen-year-old looking kid. 

“People change given different tools and information,” Draco said, looking away and staring at the fire crackling somewhat merrily in the fireplace nearby. It felt like it was mocking him, but he ignored its warmth and cheer to get his thoughts in order. “I know this first hand. If I hadn’t been…well, if I had never entered into the service of the Dark Lord, I would have never seen first hand what he was willing to do to get what he wanted. I would not have seen the horrors that allowed me to understand he was wrong. That lead me to make choice I wouldn’t have made if I hadn’t gone into service. I opened my eyes and saw things I’d seen before but had never allowed myself to think upon. In surrounding myself with idiots, I never had to really do anything other than be an arrogant prat. Once I was alone…once I was alone, everything changed.”

Dumbledore was quiet for a long time before he spoke again. 

“What could possible have changed any incarnation of Tom Riddle?”

“Love,” Draco said flatly. “Isn’t that your big thing? Love?”

Dumbledore looked quite doubtful for a moment. 

“I don’t know how Tom wound up as he is, personality or how he physically is, but I do not doubt he cared a great deal for Addy Black. And not simply because he is made out of her magic or something. Whenever he speaks of her, he always looks sad. And I have no idea what the hell is going on between him and Harry, but he cares for Harry just as much as he did Addy. You’ll have to speak to either of them to figure him out further, sir.”

“He is not a danger?”

“No. Not to us,” Draco said. “I have no doubt if he felt threatened he might be a danger to the fool who threatened him or those he cared for, but not to us, sir. Especially not to Harry.” 

Dumbledore raised a hand to his mouth and looked blankly at the floor, deep in thought. After what seemed like a life time, he nodded, sighing deeply. 

“Time travel,” he muttered under his breath. He shook his head, then focused on Draco. “I must speak with the minister. I believe we both know how he is going to take the news that Lord Voldemort had returned to the land of the living.”

Draco snorted, unable to help himself.

“If you make your way to the Hospital Wing, I’m sure you can inform Hermione and this Tom what occurred before Harry awakes. I doubt he will wish to speak of it again any time soon.”

Draco nodded, standing and leaving the headmaster’s office. 


	23. Chapter 23

**Disclaimer: If you know it, I do not own it and it is likely from _Goblet of Fire_ by JKR.**

* * *

Draco was snoozing on Hermione’s shoulder when he became aware of shouting somewhere nearby. Hermione shifted and Draco’s face smashed into the chair she’d been seated upon. It wasn’t the most pleasant way to wake up from a nap. 

“They’ll wake him if they won’t cease shouting,” Narcissa snapped. “Why are they shouting?”

“I’m sure they are for a reason,” Sirius assured in a placating tone. “What are they shouting about? Nothing else could have happened.”

“I’m sure nothing’s happened,” Narcissa insisted, fussing with the sheets on Harry’s bed. “Why must they shout? Don’t they know they’re near the Hospital Wing?”  

Draco sat up and cracked his neck, looking around the room as his eyes adjusted the dim lighting. 

“That’s Fudge’s voice, isn’t it?” Hermione inquired, leaning over the bed Harry was asleep on, though he appeared as if he was waking up. “And Professor McGonagall?”

“Fudge is an idiot,” Sirius muttered as the shouting voices grew louder and louder. “Hopefully, that’s what Minnie’s telling him.”

“Sirius,” Narcissa chided, giving Sirius a look Draco hadn’t seen on her face since he was a small child and had done something improper. 

“He is not in there!” McGongall shouted as the doors to the hospital wing flew open and hurried footsteps came down the ward towards them. “Minister—” 

“Where is Dumbledore?” Fudge demanded, looking around at the people gathered around two hospital beds, one containing an awake Harry Potter and the other containing a sleeping Atlanta Black.

“He’s not here,” Narcissa snapped from her seat between the two beds. “This is a hospital wing, Minister.”

The ward door opened once more and Dumbledore appeared, Remus Lupin following behind him. Dumbledore looked angry. Draco was pretty sure he’d never seen the man so look angry. It was about as bad as the radiating power he’d done earlier. 

“Why are you disturbing these people, Minister?” Dumbledore demanded.

“I couldn’t find you! People are spouting off all kinds of madness! Crouch just dropped dead! There’s a dead boy! Parents are in an uproar! There’s a rumor You-Know-Who is back!” 

“Lord Voldmort has returned,” Dumbledore calmly said. “Crouch’s son aided him in his return as well as his father’s death tonight.”

Fudge looked as if someone had put a heavy weight onto his face and left it there for too long. He was dazed, staring at Dumbledore as if he was speaking Greek. He shook his head and began to sputter.

“You-Know-Who…returned? Preposterous. Come now, Dumbledore…”

“As I am sure Minerva has told you by now, we questioned the Crouch’s old House Elf on the matter, and she confirmed that Crouch’s son lives. And Harry’s witnessed Voledmort’s rebirth just this night.” 

Fudge stared at Dumbledore, a curious smile on his face. 

“I cannot permit you to question Harry tonight,” Dumbledore announced.

The curious smile stayed on Fudge’s face.

“You are—er—prepared to take Harry’s word on this, are you, Dumbledore?”

Draco felt sick at the look on Fudge’s face. He wondered if this was how it’d gone down last time: Fudge being a complete moron. Granted, last time there were months upon months of Skeeter’s stories to implant seeds of doubt. This time there was only one. Maybe two if Fudge had read the out of print magazine. 

“Certainly I believe Harry. I also know it was a very Dark and slow acting curse that infected Mr Crouch. The curse could only be placed as it was by a member of his own blood. The only possible person this could be would be his son, as every other member of the Crouch family related to blood close enough is dead.”

“Junior is dead,” Fudge snapped. “He died in Azkaban.”

“He didn’t,” Dumbledore calmly replied. “You may question Winky if you wish. She will confirm Crouch Junior is alive and that his mother died in his place taking polyjuice potion. Though, it is unlikely Winky will know it was polyjuice potion. That is an assumption I’ve made.”

Fudge still wore that strange smile on his face. He glanced at Harry before looking back at Dumbledore.

“You are prepared to believe that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has returned on the word of a House Elf and a boy who…well…”

Fudge shot Harry another look and Harry scowled deeply.

“Been reading Rita Skeeter’s article, Minister?” 

“And if I have?” Fudge asked, slightly turning red. “There’s been a reason she’s been kept quiet for so long. Is it because she’s speaking the truth. Hmmm?”

Draco’s mouth dropped open. 

Fudge turned back to Dumbledore. “You’ve been keeping things about Potter mum, haven’t you Dumbledore? A Parselmouth, eh? And having funny turns all over the place…” 

“I assume you are referring to the pains Harry has been experiencing in his scar?” Dumbledore asked cooly.

“You admit that he’s been having these pains, then? Headaches? Nightmares? Hallucinations?”

Dumbledore went even colder, standing to his full height and glaring down at the Minister. He took a step forward, radiating that terrible power Draco had witnessed earlier. 

“Listen to me, Cornelius, Harry is as sane as you or I. That scar upon his forehead has not addled his brains. I believe it hurts when Lord Voldemort, who put it there in the first place, is feeling particularly murderous or is near by.”

Fudge took a half step backwards. “You’ll forgive me, Dumbledore, but I’ve never heard of a curse scar acting as an alarm bell.”

“There’s not a curse scar like his out there, Minister,” Draco said loudly, just before Harry was about to start shouting by the look on his face. 

The minister jerked, staring at Draco as if he didn’t know Draco was able to form words. Draco got to his feet and glared at the blundering fool. 

“There is no scar like that on this planet because no one has EVER survived the Killing Curse,” Draco said, trying to keep calm. “You are an idiot if you think you would have EVER heard of a curse scar behaving as Harry’s does, as there is only ONE on this planet. I’ve seen the scar in action, sir. And I know I’m not insane in the least. It does hurt, it does show him things Voldemort lets slip out because he’s arrogant and fails to realize he’s connected himself to Harry. And if you don’t believe Harry, then why don’t you wake up Atlanta Black, er, I mean Lupin there and ask her. Or just look at her arm.” 

Draco wasn’t sure why he’d added the last bit, but he knew there was something on her arm, be it either the sign Tom was hanging out with her or the scar Voldemort had left on her when he’d done whatever to her when she’d traveled back to the forties. Draco had seen glimpses of it, but had never looked at it closely. There would be only one reason why Atlanta would be ashamed of a scar and it must look like something like a Dark Mark. 

Fudge didn’t look as if he wanted to approach Atlanta Lupin (Draco needed to remember she’d changed her last name). 

“By all means, Minister,” Lupin said slightly, rolling his daughter’s sleeve up on her left arm. 

Several people gasped in the room, Draco included. 

On Atlanta’s arm, where he’d seen glimpses of a pinkish scar, was now a black scar that had a distinctive snake shape to it. It looked as if it had been painfully carved into her arm, as around the black the skin was red and irritated. Soft footsteps sounded from the other end of the ward as Snape appeared, sweeping bat like down the aisle. His black eyes took in the Minister, Dumbledore, and Lupin before his face grew hard. 

“That means…nothing,” Fudge sputtered. 

“Does this?” Snape asked, rolling back the sleeve of his left arm. Draco felt as if he was going to throw up at the sight of the ugly, black Dark Mark that stood out on Snape’s pale forearm. “It’s this dark again because he lives.” 

“Same for Atlanta,” Lupin said softly. “Whatever he did to her when she spent time in 1943 was similar to the method he later branded his followers. I had assumed something like this would occur if he were to ever regain power.” 

Fudge went on sputtering. Narcissa lifted up a cup and foisted it at Harry, while shooting a dark look to Dumbledore. Dumbledore grabbed Fudge’s arm and man-handled him out of the room, taking Snape and McGonagall with him. Lupin covered Atlanta’s arm back up, quickly turning her sleeve up on her other arm and sighing. He sat down and began to speak into Atlanta’s ear, likely talking to Tom, who was trapped inside until Atlanta woke up. 

“What happened to Atlanta?” Draco asked, as his mother tired to get Harry to drink some more Dreamless Sleep potion. 

“I’m not sure, but I am sure the moment Voldemort regained his body and magic, she felt him as she would have when she was Calliope Riddle. We do not know what he exactly did, but many Dark blood rituals link the participates through their blood, allowing them to sense one another. And since whatever he did is quite like the Dark Mark…” Hermione trailed off, frowning deeply.

“She felt him,” Draco finished flatly. 

“Ginny said Atlanta suddenly gasped and said she felt sick.”

“She was quite pale,” Narcissa said, having succeeded in getting Harry to drink the remaining potion. “I didn’t even think it might have to do with what had been done to her.” 

“I would not have either at first,” Lupin admitted, smoothing Atlanta’s hair away from her face. “Ginny mentioned Atlanta began to speak as she had before her accident and had a great fear in her voice as she kept saying ‘He’s back. God help us, he’s back.’” 

“Did Calliope learn to fear him?” Draco asked. “Atlanta never told us about her time there, or what happened.”

Lupin glanced up, then back down at his daughter. “Not exactly. Calliope was wary of him for reasons she did not understand. She knew he’d fail at whatever he was planning, yet did not know why. She just knew…she knew Harry would defeat him. She remembered a green eyed, black haired baby.”

“Atlanta’s memory seeping in?” Draco asked.

Lupin nodded. “Yes, he did something that caused whatever mind spell he’d done to break down and allow some of Atlanta into Calliope’s well organized mind.” Lupin was quiet for a moment before he added, “Her barriers have fallen. He brought them down when he returned.” 

Everyone in the room, whether they understood that or now, looked rather grave. 

“Madam Pomfrey thought it was best to put her into a magical coma,” Narcissa said. “She was rather…”

“Agitated?” Lupin asked lightly.

Narcissa nodded. “Yes, and she was speaking with both her accents when I arrived. I assumed whatever had upset her was making her Southern accent come out.” 

“In a way, you are right.” 

Everyone stared at the sleeping Atlanta Lupin.

“I’m going to try to…fix her mind so she’s able to wake up. If I could have some privacy, I cannot be distracted,” Lupin said, pulling his wand out. Draco and Hermione helped set up the privacy curtains, then took their seats next to Harry’s bed. 

Silence fell in the ward, other than the sound of deep breathing coming out of Harry. 

“Your father was there tonight, with Riddle, wasn’t he?”

It took Draco a moment to figure out what his mother was asking. He’d forgotten she’d figured out (he couldn’t remember how) that Voldemort was Tom Riddle. Draco nodded slowly. 

Her face went dark, her mouth tightening.

“Fool,” she whispered, fisting the sheets of Harry’s bed in her hands. 

“Mother?”

“I know he’s your father, Draco, but I doubt you will be seeing him anytime soon. I do hope there’s nothing at the manor you want.”

Draco shook his head. “No, Mother. There is not.” 

“We won’t be going back there anytime soon,” Narcissa said, smoothing out the sheets she’d rumpled. 

Sirius took a step closer to her and squeezed her shoulder. “You know, Cissy, as head of the Black Family, I could do something about this situation. You’re both of Black blood.”

Narcissa frowned, looking up at her cousin. “What are you talking about?” 

“I think the Muggles call it divorce,” Sirius said. “During the days when my father thought I’d be heir, he made me read all this family stuff: old spells, dark spells, odd spells, weird ceremonies. There was this interesting thing having to do about a blood Black in a terrible marriage. It was a spell and a ceremony of some sort… rare, hardly used as it kind of goes against everything purebloods stand for, but I thought it was kind of awesome. I don’t know how well it’ll work on Draco, as he’s half Black, half Malfoy technically, but on you, it’ll free you from the Malfoy family once and for all.”

“I…I have no money,” Narcissa whispered, looking away. “He took it all.”

Sirius snorted. “You want some money? I’ve got plenty. And I won’t kick you and Draco out of the house. Hell, I don’t want to live there alone.”

“Regulus is there,” Narcissa snapped, looking up at him.

“Oh, yeah. Well, it’s too big to be there with just us guys. Needs a women’s touch and I doubt either of he will find one anytime soon.”

Narcissa rolled her eyes. “I doubt it. Seeing as he won’t leave the house.”

“Yeah, silly guy. So, I’ll show it to you and you can think on it, yeah?”

“Yes. I’ll think on it.”

Draco wasn’t sure what he was feeling.  Some part of him was hoping to be rid of his father, to be free of the mad man who would bring ruin to the Malfoy name and yet at the same time, wasn’t that what he’d come back in time to change? Wasn’t his original reasoning on going back in time was to save his family? 

He stared at his mother and Sirius, who were both looking at Harry with anxious expressions painting their features. He felt a warm hand on top of his and looked over at Hermione, who was looking at Draco with worried eyes. 

It hit him in that moment, he’d gained a new family. Blood wasn’t the only thing that made people family. Sure it was important, and technically they were all related by blood (except Hermione), but there was something more to this strange mix of people he found himself with. Before, none of these people cared about him (other than his mother). Before, none of these people would have been sitting together as they were now (other than maybe Sirius, Hermione, and Harry). 

Last time, he was pretty sure his mother would rather spit on Sirius than accept his help. Last time he was sure Narcissa would never worry about Harry as she did now. Nor would she ever think about formally leaving his father in the dust. Draco had always wondered, in the back of his mind, if his parents actually loved one another. He knew they both cared for him, his mother more so than his father, but he wasn’t aware they really cared for one another passed what the other could offer. 

Before Draco hadn’t had friends. He had minions, just like the Dark Lord. Crabbe and Goyle followed him because they’d been told. Everyone put up with him because he was a Malfoy and thus could be used to increase his or her own status. 

He had friends. 

“Block,” Draco muttered. “Where’s Tom’s block?”

Hermione frowned before she glanced at the pile of Harry’s discarded clothing. Draco pulled the pile closer to him and went through the pockets. He found the wooden block.

“Don’t do anything till Professor Lupin is done doing whatever he’s doing,” Hermione whispered. 

Draco nodded. Sirius and his mother were busy speaking quietly to one another, so neither noticed Draco standing up and moving to the other side of Harry’s bed. He peeked around the partition and saw Lupin bent over the bed, his wand pressed to Atlanta’s temple and his eyes closed in concentration. Draco knew it’d be best if he didn’t speak, so he simply set the block near Atlanta’s right arm. Immediately, the grayish magic that represented Tom flowed out of her arm and into the block. As silently as he could, Draco picked the block up and made his way back to his own seat. No sooner had he sat down, Narcissa suggested both Hermione and Draco retire for the evening. Draco really did not want to go back to the Tower, but Hermione looked dead on her feet, so he agreed to head back. 

“Did you get him?” Hermione asked as they quietly walked down the corridor towards their respective towers. 

“Yes,” Tom answered, pouring himself out of the block. Somehow, he managed to look rather ill. His cheekbones stood out and his hair was actually a mess. 

“Are you alright?” Hermione asked, looking concerned. Her hand came up to touch the not ghost before dropping upon remembering he wouldn’t be solid. 

“He’s back,” Tom said in reply. “No, I am not alright. And…it has been quite a long time since I’ve been bombarded with someone else’s emotions.”

Hermione looked as if she wished to ask more questions, but held her tongue. 

The trio walked silently till they reached the point Hermione had to leave to go to the Ravenclaw Tower. They bid one another goodnight and parted ways. Tom and Draco continued on in silence (other than when Draco gave the Fat Lady the password) till they were safely behind the curtains of Draco’s bed. It felt a little strange to have Tom on his bed, rather than Harry’s, but Draco figured this was the only option. He hoped Tom didn’t watch him sleeping or something creepy like that. 

“I do sleep.”

“You do?”

“Yes. If you put my block on Harry’s bed and close the curtains I’d appreciate it.”

“I can do that.”

Tom was quiet for a beat then asked, “Is he okay?”

“Harry?” 

Tom nodded. 

“He will be. I think he’s still in shock at the moment,” Draco admitted.

“Dumbledore made him tell the whole tale, did he not?”

“He did.”

Tom gave Draco an impatient look, so Draco retold the entire thing as much as he could remember it. By the time he was finished, Tom looked cold. His eyes were distant. He ran his hands through his hair and it resettled as it usually looked. 

“It happened almost as it did the first time,” Tom flatly said, still staring off into space. “And Moldy did use the spell I figured he would, only he made it much more personal from the sounds of it.”

“Yes.”

“And Dumbledore thought it was good that Voldemort used Harry’s blood?”

“That was the feeling I got,” Draco admitted. 

Tom hummed thoughtfully. “There must be something he knows that we haven’t thought of beyond what he told to appease Sirius.” 

“Harry accidentally mentioned you and Dumbledore figured it out. I think. He kept me after and questioned me about you,” Draco said quietly.

That got a reaction out of Tom. He looked scared, frightened, mad, and bemused all at once. 

“After I assured him you’d never harm Harry, he didn’t press me any further, but you might want to let up on the talking out of pockets,” Draco murmured.

Tom nodded, looking away. “I believe you need to sleep and I would like to as well.”

Tom vanished into his block. Draco stood up, placed the block on Harry’s bed and closed the curtains. Draco then fell into his own bed, without bothering to undress. 

 


	24. Never Smile at a Crocodile

**Disclaimer: If you know it, I do not own it and it is likely from _Goblet of Fire_ by JKR.**

* * *

Lord Voldemort was mad. 

No, mad wasn’t the best word. 

Irate. Furious. Enraged. Furious. Incandescent. Apoplectic. Furibund. Vesuvius. Vexed. 

He needed a thesaurus to find more words, as he’d yet to find the right one to display how displeased his current state found him. 

Harry Potter had gotten away. 

Using a _Disarming Charm_.

An elementary charm. 

How…pitiful. 

He was Lord Voldemort and a fourteen-year-old child defeated him.

With a _simple_ charm. 

Torturing his followers that deemed to show didn’t alleviate the anger. The cowering and pitiful sounds they were making were doing nothing but making him feel further incensed. 

Sweeping around the fallen sycophants, he strode around the graveyard blowing up headstones. The stone shards flew out in all directions, hitting his shield. He heard more cries and shouts of pain at the impact of the sharp stone hit his Death Eaters, yet they brought him no pleasure. He turned back and viewed the destruction. The graveyard was in ruins, there were bloody, dirty, and dusty Death Eaters everywhere and he could smell the fear in the air.

Still, he did not feel better.

Rolling his neck back and forth for a moment, he ran his hands over his bald head and let out a noise of frustration.

He kind of missed his hair. And his nose. Why did he not have a nose? 

He took a closer look at his hands, noting the dirty, long nails. Those would have to go. Disgusting. His fingers were still long, graceful and pale. Only, he was really pale, not the attractive pale he’d once been. He ran his hands over his face again. 

Why did he not have a nose? How was he breathing through slits?

Shaking his head, he wondered why he was suddenly overwhelmed by his appearance. His physical appearance meant nothing to him. He did not care when his looks began to go as he delved into the Dark Arts. He did care about personal hygiene, though. Why had he returned with dirt under his nails and insanely long, claw like nails? 

Taking a calming breath, Lord Voldemort stopped trying to figure out it out. It was then, he noticed something tickling his mind. Cocking his head to the side, he tried to figure out who it was. It was not Potter. (Potter did not care for how he appeared, Lord Voldemort could tell that by the state of his hair.) Putting his hands on his head, he felt around for a moment. Last time he’d felt Potter in his mind, Potter had been confused, upset, and distressed. Oh, and scared. Very scared. 

As he should.

No, this tickling in his mind wasn’t Potter. 

He did not like the fact he could _feel_ the boy’s emotions. Lord Voldemort knew why he felt Potter’s emotions. He knew the moment he touched that lighting bold scar: he’d accidentally marked Potter as his.  

It was not the first time he’d marked someone as his own and the connection went deep. (His Death Eaters did not count. Those were not _his_ in that sense. They were tools, a means to an end. They followed, took orders and died.) 

Potter was his possession. That ugly lighting bolt scar (why a lighting bolt?) danced with _his_ magic, _his_ power, _his_ essence. 

Just like Calliope. 

Only, Potter was an accident, so the connection was unbalanced at best. And quite unwanted. Potter was to be his end. 

No one was going to be the downfall of the Dark Lord. Especially not Potter. 

Part of him wondered if he ought to have used someone else’s blood for the ceremony, as did he really want to be connected further to his forewarned downfall? 

Lord Voldemort focused on the new tickle in his mind. It was crackling, strumming, powerful, and familiar. The feeling washed over him like a long forgotten melody. He could hear the haunting tune in his mind, just as clearly as he had heard it earlier that evening when he’d dueled Potter.  (Which was strange, and needed to be dealt with. What had happened? Why on earth had his wand reacted that way to Potter’s spell? That was NOT what happened normally when spells met during duels.)

His eyes shot open. 

“She’s alive.”

His Death Eaters were all still assembled. He wove his wand through the air and the headstones reassembled themselves. By the time he reached where his Death Eaters were all struggling to their feet, the graveyard looked as it did before his tirade. Lord Voldemort found Lucius Malfoy. He came to a stop in front of the slippery man. 

“Lucius, do you know of an Atlanta Black?”

The man’s face contorted in disgust. “She isn’t called that any longer. She was never a Black.”

Voldemort cocked his head to the side. “What is she called?”

“Atlanta Lupin,” Malfoy spat out, unable to keep the dislike out of his tone.  

Lord Voldemort quirked a nonexistent eyebrow. (Why did he not have any hair? Did he have eyelashes? How was the dirt going to be kept out of his eyes without eyelashes and eyebrows? Why was he being distracted by his appearance?)

“Why does this child disgust you so much?” Voldemort asked, trying to keep his mind on the girl. 

“She’s a half breed,” Lucius replied.

Voldemort blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Lord, she is the spawn of two werewolves,” Malfoy explained, backing up a bit as Voldemort’s magic flared and eyes glowed brighter red at the insult to the girl. “It was exposed last summer when her mother died. Not that woman was her mother. It was in that blasted woman’s will, explaining who the child’s real parents were.”

“And those real parents?”

“Remus Lupin and some disinherited American Black slut,” Malfoy replied, distaste clear in his tone. “She is of no relation to the House of Black. Delphinus Black cast her out. His son, Altair Black, cast Atlanta Lupin out the moment he discovered her true blood status. He is worthy. He will support your cause gladly.” 

Voldemort took a few steps backwards. He remembered these Blacks. Delphinus was against him before his fall. Altair, his oldest son, was a supporter, but was unable to show support because his father forbade it. He’d gone back to America the moment Voldemort came out into the open. Lord Voldemort disregarded the younger man due to the fact Altair assured him no Black would ever hold the name Atlanta, as it was not a star or star constellation. The American Blacks were steadfast in the naming tradition more so than the British Blacks. 

Quirking his nonexistent lips (why did he not have lips?), Voldemort asked, “How old is she now?”

“I believe she is fourteen,” Mafloy replied.  

Fourteen. She had been out of his reach for only three years, then, from her point of view. And, since she was indeed named Atlanta Black (or had been), it seemed Altair might have named her due to the fact he’d asked the young man about an Atlanta Black. 

Yes, Altair was worthy. 

“Why do you despise her so much? Just for her…blood?”

“Yes.”

Lord Voldemort studied Lucius Malfoy for a long moment. From Circe Hilderbatch, Lord Voldemort had learned that Narcissa Malfoy had taken an interest in Atlanta and the child was rather good friends with her only son, who’d oddly sorted into Gryffindor and befriended Harry Potter. However, Hilderbatch’s knowledge of Atlanta was dismal at best. He had been unable to discern if the child was indeed his Calliope or not.

“You are all dismissed. I will have orders for you later,” Voldemort ordered. “It goes without saying, you must not speak of tonight.” 

Pops filled the air, leaving Voldemort alone in the graveyard. He slowly walked in the direction of the Riddle Manor, thinking things over. 

He felt disgust. He had werewolf blood mixed with his. It did explain the heightened scent, hearing, and sight he had gained after the ritual. They were useful, now that he thought about it. And Atlanta herself, before he’d made her into what he wanted, had not behaved as many werewolves did: as a savage. (This might have been due to the fact at least half of her wasn’t a savage werewolf, but Dumbledore’s pet.) She did not even turn into an animal, nor did the full moon seem to affect her in any manner. 

Acceptance, it covered him like a blanket. Remus Lupin was a strong wizard despite being a werewolf. The one time he’d seen the man, his grey aura was strong, spiking and crackling. It had reminded him of Calliope. Now he understood why. 

The Black traits, though, those were also strong in the child. She could see magic very clearly and had been trained early on to deal with such a strong magical gift. And then there was that strange voice magic she possessed. Even after he’d wiped Atlanta Black out, that skill had remained. Voldemort had used it to make her better at magic. While she was mediocre at magic before the blood ritual, afterwards she mastered spells quickly and efficiently. Oh, and they were so much more powerful than the average twelve-year-old witch. 

She was a force to be reckoned with. 

And if going by the tickling in his mind, she still remained a force. 

Voldemort let a smile grow on his lipless face. Calliope Riddle was here, she was alive, and she was powerful. He focused on the tickling in his mind. It didn’t tell him much, just that she was alive and awake. It was like having a warm jumper on a cold day. 

A pop sounded near by. Voldemort slowly turned, wondering who was in his mists. He was rather surprised to see Severus Snape, who quickly dropped into a bow on the front lawn on the manor. 

“Severus,” Voldemort said quietly. 

“My Lord. Please forgive me for not coming sooner,” the man said softly. “I was in Dumbledore’s company.” 

“Ah, yes. I thought I’d lost you.”

“No, my Lord. You have never lost me,” Severus assured. 

“Stand. Before I test your loyalty, I need to ask. What do you know of Atlanta Black?”

Severus looked confused. “Black? She was declared dead, having gone missing at the same time Regulus Black.”

Ah, yes. The other Atlanta Black, who was in fact not a member of the House of Black. Nor was she his Calliope. That much was obvious when he met her someplace she should never have been. He knew she wasn’t his Calliope within moments of facing her. Her aura was all wrong, and she lacked the skills a grown Calliope ought to have gained as she’d grown. The woman was still a force to be reckoned with before Lord Voldemort had killed her. Her wards had been intoxicating, drenched in delicious Dark magic. Darker than anyone on the Light side dare use. 

It was tragic the day she died. Slightly. 

And wherever had Regulus gone? No one could find him, nor did he come when called. The boy was weak, scared, and more than useless, but he was a Black and the heir.

Lord Voldemort wondered who was in charge of the Black Family if Regulus was truly dead. 

“No, I mean the one I hear is actually a Lupin.”

It almost sounded like Severus snorted before he sobered and answered. 

“Yes. She did change her last name to Lupin, as Remus Lupin is her father.” 

“How does she do in school?”

“She is terrible at potions,” Severus offered quickly.

Voldemort laughed softly, fingering his wand. “Yes, she would be. I do not understand why she never managed to get a hold on potions. Slughorn was so frustrated with her.” 

Severus appeared confused. It made Lord Voldemort smile. 

“Ah, Dumbledore did not tell you? Atlanta Lupin is Calliope Riddle.”

Severus’ dark eyes grew large. His disbelief was believable. As a member of the Inner Circle, Severus knew of his search for Calliope Riddle. No one, though, knew Calliope Riddle was his sister. He did not want to be connected to Tom Riddle, he had successfully buried that name and man. 

He did want his sister back. 

“I take it Atlanta Lupin vanished her first year?” Severus nodded slowly. “She came to me. She belongs to me. Unlike the last Atlanta Black we had in our mists, the one that poor Regulus was in love with and failed to bring to me, this one is my Calliope. I can feel her.”

His right arm tingled suddenly, humming with the magic blood bond between them. Calliope must have felt him and pressed on her scar. He reveled in it, forgetting how much he missed it. In the days after her disappearance, it was an ache, the absent of the buzz just under his skin. He felt empty, hallow. 

He couldn’t find her and it drove him mad. 

Now he could easily find her. Just as the Dark Mark drew his follows to him, her beautiful scar would draw him to her. 

“I take it she was different after her trip to the past?”

“Yes. Her parents took her out of school for the remainder of her first year, as she reappeared during the Christmas holidays. She only returned the next year because Remus Lupin was a professor and Circe Hilderbatch trusted him to protect her.”

“I take it was Hilderbatch’s death that caused the child to be cast out of the House of Black?”

“Yes, my Lord,” Severus said. “She went so far as to legally separate herself before Altair Black had a chance to disown her.” 

Voldemort hummed, not all that surprised. 

“What type of magic is Miss Lupin drawn to?”

Severus swallowed. “I am not sure. I am only her potions professor. I do not watch her or study her. She was unimportant to me.” 

Lord Voldemort doubted this. After her trip to the past, no doubt Dumbledore would have had her watched like a hawk by his trusted Death Eater. When Atlanta Lupin had arrived back in the present, she would have been Calliope Riddle. True, she was a Calliope Riddle plagued by some of Atlanta Lupin’s tendencies, but she still believed she was Calliope Riddle.

And always would. There was no way anyone, not even Dumbledore, could reverse the work Voldemort had done on her mind. It was a work of art. Calliope was a masterpiece.  

“You will pay very close attention to Atlanta Lupin from now on. I want to know everything about her. Her friends, her enemies, the songs she hums under her breath, the magic she enjoys, the magic she hates, what she eats for dinner—  I’m sure you get the picture. But, first, _Crucio_.” 

Voldemort felt a cruel smile unfurl on his lipless face. For the first time since Harry Potter had slipped through his fingers, Voldemort felt the sheer high he got off the torture curse and it was blissful. It flowed through him, pouring all his hate, rage and anger into something tangible. And this time, when he ended the curse, he felt content. He gave Severus a moment to collect himself, before requesting he follow into the house. Voldemort knew they had a lot to discuss. He also needed to test Severus’ loyalty. The man had spent the past thirteen years as Dumbledore’s stooge. 

Lord Voldemort would keep Severus even if the man had truly turned to the wrong side. He needed his spy in Hogwarts. And a well entrenched Severus Snape was perfect. He was sure within a year he’d figure out exactly how to end Potter and have Calliope back at his side. 

 


	25. Hope

**Disclaimer: If you know it, I do not own it and it is likely from _Goblet of Fire_ by JKR. The song Atlanta sings is called “Shattered” and it is by Trading Yesterday. I take no claim for it. **

* * *

The usual end of term decorations were absent and a strange hush had settled over the entire hall the moment Harry trudged in, flanked by Draco and Hermione. Harry glanced around, looked back at the ground, and headed for an empty spot at the Gryffindor table. Draco and Hermione followed in his wake. 

It was too much like last time. Draco’s heart felt heavy as he sat down at the Gryffindor table, all eyes still on Harry, who squared his shoulders and glanced around before turning his full attention to the Head Table. Draco followed suit, taking note Snape had returned from his meeting with the newly restored Voldemort (or at least that was where Draco assumed Snape had vanished off to the last few days). Draco felt a shiver run down his spine as Snape met his gaze. Draco quickly moved is eyes to Dumbledore, who standing waiting for everyone to cease staring at Harry. Feeling it was taking too long, he cleared his throat loudly, making every student turn his or her attention to the headmaster. 

“The end of another year,” Dumbledore began, looking around with his wise eyes that looked a little weary. “There is much I’d like to say tonight, but I have a feeling another student can convey what I wish better than I’m able. Miss Lupin?”

Everyone turned towards where Atlanta was seated. Atlanta had awaken shortly after Professor Lupin had finished doing whatever he had done and once more was “balanced.” Madam Pomfrey had kept her until that morning, just to make sure she was…better. Lupin and Atlanta both agreed this was for the best, even though she seemed fine, if a bit colder and distance than usual. Ginny had admitted she was a little worried. Draco wondered if he ought to explain what he felt like was the problem, but he figured he never would truly comprehend the Mental Magical Arts enough to really comprehend what was the matter with Atlanta.

Atlanta squared her shoulders, slipping off the bench as Ginny gave the girl a worried look. Atlanta walked forward towards the Head Table. Draco knew everyone was wondering why Dumbledore had requested Atlanta speak, as she’d not known Cedric Diggory at all. 

Draco had a sinking feeling why Dumbledore had requested she come up front. 

Atlanta’s footsteps echoed on the stone floor as she approached the Head Table. She only stopped when she was standing in front of Dumbledore, who produced a strange looking guitar from behind his back. He held it out to Atlanta, whose pureblood mask slipped for a moment as she saw the instrument.

She looked as if she was seeing a ghost. 

Atlanta took the guitar, staring at it as if it had two heads instead of just a lot of random knobs that Draco had never seen on a guitar before. Dumbledore gestured for Atlanta to stand front and center. She swallowed thickly, putting the strap of the guitar over her head and adjusting it. She put her full concentration into tuning the instrument, turning odd knobs and doing a few other things that looked a little out of place. Under the table, Draco felt a cold chill that told him that Tom had poured himself out of Harry’s pocket and was now under the table. 

Atlanta cleared her throat and finally looked up. 

“Many of you are aware that during my first year I vanished. During the time I was gone, before Voldemort tried to destroy with my mind, I wrote this song. I never understood the significance of this song till recently.”

Without further ado, Atlanta began to strum the guitar, the music ringing out over the silent hall. The lone guitar sounded eire, but then Atlanta began to sing. Goosepimples broke out over Draco’s arms and ran down to his toes. 

“ _Yesterday I died, tomorrow’s bleeding, fall into your sunlight,_ ” she sang quietly, sadness dripping form her tone. “ _The future’s open wide beyond believing, to know why hope dies_.”

It’d been a long time since Draco had witnessed Atlanta singing. He’d forgotten the odd magic that went along with it. He could almost taste the emotions flowing out of her as she performed. 

“ _Losing what was found, a world so hollow. Suspended in a compromise, the silence of the sound is soon to follow, somehow, sundown. And finding the answers is forgetting all the questions we call home. Passing the graves of the unknown_.”

Moisture begin to form behind Draco’s eyes and he quickly looked around the hall to find many other had silent tears running down their faces. The grief and sadness was almost tangible. 

Draco turned back towards Atlanta as he heard what sounded like other instruments. He saw her hit a couple knobs on the guitar as she continued to sing, causing what sounded like violins and piano to mix in with her guitar. 

“ _As reason clouds my eyes, with splendor fading. Illusions of the sunlight. The reflection of the lie, will keep me waiting with love gone, for so long. This day’s ending is the proof of time killing all the faith I know, knowing that faith is all I hold._ ”

More instruments (or something) joined in as the music shifted, grew louder and fuller. Draco felt like he was suffocating under the sorrow Atlanta was projecting, so he was rather shocked when Harry gasped in what sounded like shock.

“What?” Draco hissed. 

“I know this song,” Harry said faintly, as Atlanta began to sing the next verse, somehow shifting the grief and sorrow to heartbreak. 

“ _And I’ve lost who I am and I can’t understand, why my heart is so broken, rejecting your love without love gone wrong, lifeless words carry on, but I know all I know that the end’s beginning.”_

“How do you know this song?” Draco asked, glancing down to find Tom was clinging to Harry’s legs. Harry didn’t even seem to realize he was holding onto Tom’s head as the other boy was wrapped around Harry’s legs. He was too shell shocked that he knew the song. 

“I heard it in the Chamber of Secrets,” Harry whispered as Atlanta sang, “ _Who I am from the start, take me home to my heart, let me go and I will run, I will not be silent.”_

The words were stabbing Draco in the heart, as well as quite a few others. The heartbreak was tangible, the grief, the confusion, the loss. Atlanta hit more knobs on the guitar and the music shifted again, getting even louder and fuller. 

“ _All this time spent in vain, wasted years, waisted gain, all is lost, hope remains, and this war’s not over,”_ she sang out. 

“And I heard it the other night, when you know…during the wand thing. Only, I’ve never heard the worlds only…” Harry trailed off, staring at the ceiling. “Oh.”

Draco looked up at the ceiling as Atlanta sang, “ _There’s a light, there’s the sun, taking all shattered ones to the place we belong and his love will conquer.”_

There was a red and gold bird flying through the Great Hall. It was breathtaking sight. It landed behind Dumbledore and began to sing along with Atlanta, lending it’s eerie sounding voice to the music. 

Atlanta’s eyes, which had been closed since she’d began singing, snapped open suddenly. 

“ _And I’ve lost who I am and I can’t understand_ ,” she sang, sounding stronger and determined. The emotions she was projected changed drastically, taking away the heartache, loss, and grief. Draco was pelted with something fierce. He couldn’t pin point exactly, while at the same time feeling a sense of peace and hope. 

“ _Why my heart is so broken, rejecting your love without love gone wrong. Lifeless words carry on, but I know all I know that the end’s beginning.”_

Draco gazed around the hall, staring at the stupidified expressions worn by almost every single person in the Great Hall. Many still had fresh tears streaming down their faces, but they were no longer crying. Harry had let go of Tom and was staring opened mouth at the sight of the singing bird above Dumbledore. Dumbledore, meanwhile, was staring at the bird with a rather dumbfounded expression on his face. It was at that moment Draco realized the bird was Dumbledore’s phoenix, the same bird that had given two feathers to Ollivander for the wands Voldemort and Harry used. 

“ _Who I am from the start, take me home to my heart, let me go and I will run, I will not be silent. All this time spent in vain, wasted years, waisted gain. All is lost, hope remains and this war’s not over. There’s a light, there’s the sun, taking all shattered ones to the place we we belong and his love will conquer all…”_

The music slowed down and grew quieter. The bird stopped singing and fell silent. It pecked Dumbledore on the head, then took flight as Atlanta finished her song softly singing, “ _And his love will conquer all. Love will conquer all.”_

The other instruments had died off around the time the bird flew off, leaving the last note from the single guitar. It quavered in the air, along with all the emotions wrought by Atlanta’s song. As the final note ended, silence rang out. Atlanta remained where she was standing till she sagged a bit and removed the guitar from around her neck. She turned around to hand it to Dumbledore, who indicated she ought to keep it. Atlanta looked conflicted, but she and the guitar retook her spot at the Gryffindor table next to Ginny with the other third year girls. Dumbledore stood up and began to address the room. 

“Music is the most wonderful form of magic. It is able to show emotion, tell a story, and cause our hearts to swell or shatter. There is much I have to say tonight, but first I would like you all to stand and raise your glasses to Cedric Diggory.”

Benches scrapped loudly as everyone stood up (save a few Slytherins) and raised their goblets and echoed in one loud, rumbling voice, “Cedric Diggory.” 

Everyone took a drink, then sat down. Once everyone was resettled, Dumbledore continued speaking. 

“Cedric was a person who exemplified many of the qualities that distinguished Hufflepuff House. He was a loyal friend, a hard worker, and he valued fair play. His death has effected you all, whether you knew him well or not.”

Dumbledore fell quiet, allowing what he had said to sink in. 

“The Ministry of Magic does not wish for me to tell you, but you have the right to know who was responsible for the murder of Cedric Diggory.”

There was a beat of silence that seemed to stretch out for an eternity. 

“I do not think we should pretend Cedric died from an accident or a blunder of his own as will be reported by the Ministry. It is an insult to his memory. Remember this during the summer, as I am sure your parents, as well as the media, will try to convince you this to be untrue.” 

Dumbledore cast his sky blue eyes around the Hall. It was silent, oddly so. 

“I know you all wish to know exactly what happened,” Dumbledore went on. “I want to be clear on this topic for an array of reasons.”

Draco felt Tom shift under the table. Harry quickly stared at the empty dishes as if was they most fascinating thing the world. 

“On the night of the third task, both Cedric and Harry Potter were transported by Portkey to a location off school grounds. This is where Cedric was murdered by Lord Voldemort before he used Dark Magic to resurrect himself.” Dumbledore cast his gaze towards Harry, who was still looking for life’s answers in his golden plate, but had allowed Tom to hold his hand. Draco felt something odd at the sigh of this, but blamed it on the heightened emotional state Atlanta had left everyone in. “Harry Potter was forced to duel Voldemort, who assumed he would end the duel by killing Harry once and for all.”

Dumbledore looked across the hall, his gaze hitting each House table before he continued speaking. 

“Harry Potter escaped Lord Voldemort and risked his life to return Cedric’s body to his family. He showed, in every respect, the sort of bravery that few wizards have shown in facing Lord Voldemort. I honor him for this.”  

Turning gravely towards Harry, Dumbledore raised his goblet. Draco lightly elbowed Harry, who looked up and met Dumbledore’s eyes briefly before everyone was raising their goblets to Harry. (Well, except for a few at the Slytherin table.)

“Remember,” Dumbledore continued after everyone had replaced the goblets on the tables, “if there should come a time when you have to make a choice between what is right and what is easy, remember what happened to a boy who was good, kind, and brave because he strayed across the path of Lord Voldemort and his path to what he believed to be power. Remember Cedric Diggory.” 

* * *

The next morning, Tom and Draco sat on Draco’s perfectly made bed watching Harry’s last ditch effort to pack all his belongings into his trunk. 

“Does he do this every year?”

“More or less,” Draco said as Harry attempted to stuff his dress robes into the already overstuffed trunk.

“You do realize you could shrink your belongings to fit better,” Tom drawled. “You’re still at school. You can do magic.”

Harry straightened up and stared at Tom blankly. This wasn’t exactly anything new, as Harry had pretty much been a walking zombie since he’d woken up to the horribly unflattering headlines the _Daily Prophet_ was running now that Voldemort had “return.” (Just another attempt by the mentally unbalanced and fame hungry Harry Potter to make the news, so said the paper.) 

Tom’s connections at the _Daily Prophet_ had dried up as Fudge had gotten rid the old _Prophet_ regime and installed one of his own, who were all too happy to publish Skeeter’s horribles stories and others that slandered Harry Potter. The only mention of Cedric’s death was a very, very, very tiny story that was hiding within the depths of the paper, claiming as they had assumed they’d claim: Cedric died in a terrible accident. 

“Okay. Shrunk,” Harry flatly said, which was more than he’d said in the past twenty-four hours. 

“Well, let’s go, then. No need to waste time sitting around here. Let’s get a good carriage,” Draco said, gathering up his belongings that he wanted on the train with him and setting out. He heard Tom say something to Harry before zooming into his block. By the time Draco had gotten down the stairs, Harry was behind him and gloomily looking around the Common Room. 

The two boys silently made their way out of the castle. As they neared the Entrance Hall, Draco knew it was a zoo out front if the noise was anything to go by. 

He was right.

Durmstrung and Beauxbatons were also getting underway, so chaos had broken out on the front steps of Hogwarts. Draco began to elbow his way down the stairs when he heard someone call out, “‘Arry!”

Draco had time to see the silvery blonde hair before he was knocked to the side by Fleur Delacour. 

“We will see each uzzer again, I ‘ope,” she said as she held her hand out to Harry. “I am ‘oping to get a job ‘ere, to improve my Eenglish.”

“Oh, that’s, er, good,” Harry said, shaking her hand. “It, uh, was good to meet you.”

Fleur leaned in closely and whispered something to Harry, which made his eyes go wide. 

“Zey were not in the maze with us, ‘Arry. They do not know,” she said softly, then smiled. “Good-bye, ‘Arry. It ‘az been a pleasure meeting you!”

And with a flick of her hair, she breezed back down the stairs towards the other French students who were all waiting to enter the carriage. 

“What did she say to you?” Draco asked as they made their way through the crowds towards the Hogwarts carriages. 

“She believed me,” Harry whispered. “Other than, well, your mum, Sirius, you, Atlanta, Hermione, and Dumbledore, no one has said they believe me. They just stare at me funny.”

Someone made a noise from Harry’s pocket.

“Sorry. And Tom,” Harry added, his cheeks going a bit pink. 

“More will believe you over time,” Draco tried to assure. “It has to get worse before it gets better.” 

“It’s always darker before the dawn,” Tom’s voice said.

“How poetic,” Draco muttered, trying to push Harry towards the carriages while trying to make sure no one was hearing Tom talk out of Harry’s pocket. (Tom was clearly not going to take Draco’s advice and stop talking out of Harry’s pocket.) 

Harry stopped dead in his tracks, causing Draco to crash into the smaller boy. Harry gasped rather loudly and dropped his mouth open. Instantly, Draco knew what the problem was: Harry could see the threastrals. 

“You’re just as sane as I am,” came a dreamy voice from Draco’s elbow. 

Harry cast his eyes to Luna, who was standing next to Harry staring at the black horses with her head cocked to the side. 

“I can see them too, Harry. They’re called threastrals and you can only see them once you’ve seen death first hand.”

“But, I saw my mother die,” Harry breathed. 

“You were too young to comprehend what you’d seen, Harry. As a toddler, you had no concept of death. Now, you do,” Luna said, sounding rather sane and serious for the first time ever. “Now, don’t let the Nargles get you over the summer. Or you, Tom.”

Luna patted Harry’s pocket and skipped off, leaving Harry staring at her opened mouth instead of the threastrals. 

“What’s going on? Why aren’t your getting inside?” Hermione inquired, coming up from behind. Draco turned and caught her tucking a piece of parchment into her pocket. Her cheeks were rather flushed. Draco looked around and noticed Krum and the other Dumstrung students getting ready to board their boat.

Krum was staring at Hermione. 

Draco pressed his lips together, marched towards a carriage, and tore the door open and threw himself inside. 

He was not jealous. He was anxious to get home. 

* * *

Hours later, the trio was enjoying their treats off the trolley when Tom made his presence known by pouring himself out of Harry’s pocket. 

“Tom!” Hermione scolded, hurrying to draw the shade on the compartment door. “People could have seen you.”

“I am going home with you,” Tom proclaimed.

“Huh?” Harry asked, staring at Tom as if he had decided to speak gibberish. 

“You cannot go back to the Durlsey for two weeks alone.”

Harry scrunched his face up and opened his mouth to protest but was silence when Tom raised his hand. The kid might look fourteen, but he radiated authority when need be. 

“You have suffered a great trauma and should not be on your own in a house where you have no…company.”

“I think what Tom’s trying to say you need a friend,” Hermione quietly said. 

Harry scowled, opened his mouth again, but was once more silenced by the look on Tom’s face. 

“And he’s right, Harry,” Hermione went on quietly. “Neither Draco or I can be there with you, but Tom can. Don’t you see?”

Harry continued to scowl. 

“I do not eat, I do not create mess, nor will I ever be seen by any of your relatives,” Tom proclaimed. His face suddenly changed, taking on a softer expression Draco was sure was only meant for Harry to see and not him or Hermione. “Harry, summers when I was in school were always the worst. I was sent back to the orphanage and I was alone. While I never had something like what has occurred to you happen to me, I would have been…thrilled if someone was able to join me.”

Harry finally stopped scowling. “But you won’t be able to touch anything or leave my room for two weeks.”

“Harry, I remained in a flat on my own for years upon years,” Tom reminded him. “And while I could touch, I was on my own. It was not the best, I’ve come to realize. I was lonely. And…”

“You’re trying to tell me my head is as messed up as Skeeter is saying so I need to be watched?”

“No!” everyone else in the compartment shouted. Well, Draco was sure everyone else had shouted. He couldn’t be sure Tom had, as he popped out of existence. Harry stared at the empty space where Tom had once sat and blinked rather dumbly for a moment. 

“I think he’s messed up as Skeeter,” drawled a voice from the compartment door as it slid all the way open. 

“Oh, great. It’s you,” Draco drawled, turning his attention to the prat standing in the doorway flanked by his goons. 

Nott glared at Draco, while Crabbe and Goyle cracked their knuckles and looked more pleased and menacing then they usually did. It seemed the return of the Dark Lord had given them some sort of courage to be bigger bullies than they’d been before.

“So, did you read the paper today, Potter?” Nott asked slowly, advancing slightly into the compartment, eyes looking around for something. His watery eyes finally settled on Harry, his lips sort of quirking into a smile. “It seems they’ve finally decided to publish the news once more. Turns out someone was silencing Rita Skeeter. Now, who would do that?” 

“Oh, I don’t know? Anyone who knew she belonged writing fiction rather than news stories,” Draco offered. 

Nott opened his mouth to say something else, but Harry flatly said, “Get out.” 

Harry looked livid, and a little green. Draco realized quickly, there were three Death Eater’s children in the compartment. While Harry seemed perfectly fine with Draco even though Lucius was clearly a Death Eater, Draco knew that was due to the fact Harry solidly knew Draco wasn’t going to take any sort of joy in Cedric’s death or the return of Voldemort. 

The three idiots in the doorway, though, were clearly thinking they were better off now that Voldemort had turned to the land of the breathing. 

“You’ve picked the loosing side, Potter!” Nott proclaimed, not bothering to notice the fact Harry was clutching his wand in his hand. “You should have chosen the company you associated with more carefully. I knew you’d end up in trouble when you decided to hang around with riffraff like this!” Nott jerked his head towards Draco and Hermione. “A Mudblood and a Blood-Traitor.” He sneered. “And now it’s too late, Potter! They’ll be the first to go now that the Dark Lord’s back! Mudbloods and Muggle-lovers first! Well— second— Diggory was the f—” 

Draco was unable to move, as it was too much like it’d been the first time— the speech, the way Nott gleefully was talking about the fact the world was going to be _better_ now that Voldemort had returned. And, in keeping with the old timeline, it was as if someone had exploded a box of fireworks within the compartment. However, unlike the last time, Draco wasn’t the one blasted with spells. 

It was Nott. 

Draco blinked dumbly and stared at the floor where Nott, Crabbe, and Goyle were all lying unconscious in the doorway. Harry and Hermione were on their feet, looking completely livid. Tom had reappeared when the spells had been firing and was looking completely baffled, then looked scared upon seeing something Draco hadn’t noticed. Tom quickly zoomed into Harry’s pocket. 

“Thought we’d see what those three were up to,” said a voice from outside the compartment.

Draco looked up to find one of the twins stepping onto Goyle and into the compartment. He had his wand out and was followed by his wand wielding brother, who tread carefully onto Nott on his way to a seat. 

“Interesting effect,” Nott Treading Twin observed, looking down at Crabbe more carefully. “Who used the Furnunculus Curse?”

“Me,” Harry replied.

“Odd,” Nott Treading Twin said lightly. “I used Jelly-Legs. Looks like those shouldn’t be mixed. He seems to have sprouted little tentacles all over his face. Well, let’s move them somewhere else. They don’t add much to the decor.”

“How many hexes did you guy shoot off?” Draco faintly asked as he helped roll the unconscious bodies out into the corridor. 

“I got off two I think,” Twin on the Left said. 

“I only got one off,” Harry replied.

“I might have gotten two,” Hermione quietly admitted.

“I wasn’t keeping track,” Twin on the Right said, dusting his hands off as they cleared Goyle’s leg from the door. He shut the door and pulled out a deck of cards. “Exploding Snap, anyone?”

They were halfway through their fifth game when Harry blurted out, “Who are you blackmailing?”

The twins both blankly stared at Harry.

“Oh,” Twin on the Right said (Draco REALLY needed to figure out how to tell them apart). “That.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Right Twin said, shaking his head. “It wasn’t important and wasn’t really blackmail.”

“We’ve given up,” Left Twin said, shrugging. 

“Given up what?” Draco pressed. “What were you trying to do that might have been blackmail but wasn’t?”

“All right, all right, if you really want to know,” Right Twin said, shaking his head. “We were writing to Ludo Bagman.”

“Bagman?” Harry asked. “Why were you trying to get something off Bagman?”

“You remember that bet we placed with him at the Quidditch World Cup? About how Ireland would win, but Krum would get the Snitch?”

“Yes,” Harry said while Draco nodded. 

“What kind of bet was that?” Hermione asked. 

Left Twin shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. We won and he paid us in leprechaun gold.”

Hermione gasped.

“He paid you…in the fake gold he caught from the Irish mascots?” Harry asked, sounding as if he didn’t believe it in the least. “Why would he do that?”

“It must have been an accident,” Hermione said. “I’m sure he might have just gotten it confused with the proper stuff. Leprechaun gold looks quite a bit like the real stuff.”

“Oh, that’s what we thought at first,” Right Twin said, laughing very bitterly. “We wrote him about the mistake, asking for our winnings in proper gold. We figured if we pointed it out politely, he’d cough up. But nothing doing. Ignored our letter. We tried to speak to him when he came to Hogwarts, but he always made some excuse to get away from us. In the end, he turned pretty nasty. Told us we were too young to be gambling and he wasn’t giving us anything.”

“So, we asked for our money back,” Left Twin said, shuffling the cards in his hands. 

“And?” Harry inquired. 

“He refused.”

“But…that was all of your savings,” Harry breathed, looking horrified. 

“Tell me about it,” Left Twin grumped. “‘Course, we found out what was going on in the end. Lee Jordan’s dad had had a bit of trouble getting money off Bagman as well. Turns out he’s in big trouble with the goblins.”

Draco groaned and leaned back in his seat.

“Borrowed loads off them. A gang of them cornered him in the woods after the World Cup and took all the gold he had and it still wasn’t enough to cover his debts.”

“How is he still alive?” Draco faintly asked.

Hermione frowned. 

“I dunno, Drake. They followed him to Hogwarts to keep an eye on him, as he made a bet with them after the champions were announced.”

“Even though he had nothing. He lost all his gold to gambling and hasn’t got two bits to rub together,” Right Twin offered. 

“What was the bet?” Hermione asked.

“He put a bet on you, Harry. A big one. Said you’d win the tournament.”

“He bet against the goblins?” Draco asked. “Is he mental?”

“Clearly,” Left Twin agreed. “So, even though Harry technically won, they say it was actually a draw with Diggory, since you both came back with the cup. Bagman bet you’d outright win, so he did a runner last night.” 

“What will the goblins do to him?” Harry asked. 

The twins exchanged looks and shuddered. 

“Make his life a living hell,” Draco murmured, taking the cards from the twin who had the stack and began to deal. “Never make a bet with a goblin. Never. They always win.”

Hermione nodded. “I knew they were…vicious during times of war, but I didn’t realize it poured over into…”

“Gambling?” Right Twin sweetly asked. “I’m pretty sure it’s more to do with the fact they’re dealing with idiot wizards who don’t respect them than anything else. If you don’t respect a goblin, they can be downright nasty.”

Draco snorted. “Yeah, even if you’ve got old family vaults filled to the brim.” 

“Well, most wizarding families don’t treat the goblins very nicely,” Left Twin offered. “See themselves as better than the goblins.”

Hermione tutted. “Morons.”

“Yup,” agreed the three purebloods in the compartment. 

* * *

“Where is Harry?” Narcissa asked. “Wasn’t he right behind you?”

“I think he hung back to speak to the twins,” Draco said, things clicking in his mind as he helped Dobby deal with their luggage. 

Potter had won a bag of gold. The twins suddenly had enough money to buy a shop on Diagon Alley. Clearly, Potter had given the twins his winnings. And Harry was doing the same thing. 

“Thank you, Little Master,” Dobby said. “I can get it.”

“Just making sure,” Draco said, looking at the rather precarious stack of trunks and cages Dobby was dealing with. Harry’s trunk looked like it was going to explode. (The charms he’d used definitely weren’t strong enough.) 

“Ah, there he is!” Sirius bellowed over the noise of the platform. “Where you’ve been?”

“Nowhere,” Harry said. “Just talking to the twins.” 

Sirius nodded, studying Harry. He clapped a hand on the shoulder and Dobby managed to get Harry’s luggage onto a cart and pushed it towards Harry. The Elf beamed at Harry. The boy thanked Dobby as he took the cart. 

“Ready?” Narcissa asked.

Harry nodded. 

Dobby cracked off, taking Draco’s luggage with him. 

“You’ll write?” Hermione asked, pulling Harry into a half hug. 

“Yeah, I will.”

“It’s only two weeks,” she said, pulling away. 

“Yeah, I know,” Harry sighed. 

“Thanks, Harry!” shouted one of the twins as he walked through the barrier.

“We’ll name things after you!” the other said, vanishing as well. 

“What are they talking about?” Hermione asked, narrowing her eyes.

“Nothing,” Harry muttered, turning red.

Draco smirked. By the narrowing of Hermione’s eyes, he knew she would later drill him on what he knew. 

“Well, let’s go through,” Narcissa said, gentling pushing Draco forward towards the barrier. 

Draco stepped into the overly loud and smelly Muggle station and felt as if something was wrong. 

There wasn’t anything wrong. The Muggles had no clue dark times were ahead. They weren’t likely even aware of the dark times when they’d happened before, so why did there was no reason to expect there to be a gloomy, subdue feeling to the station. The Muggles were clueless. (As was most of the wizarding world.) 

“Two weeks?” Harry asked, eyeing his oversized uncle, who stood silently off to the side waiting for his nephew. 

“Yes, two weeks,” Narcissa assured, hugging Harry tightly. “If you need anything whilst you’re there, don’t hesitate to ask.”

Harry nodded. 

Sirius gripped Harry’s shoulder and nodded. Harry gave him a slight smile then pushed his cart towards his uncle. 

“Let’s go home,” Narcissa said, glancing around. She jerked her head towards a hidden spot in the station. Sirius turned and strode towards it. 

“I’ll see you next year. Or maybe over the summer,” Hermione said, hugging Draco tightly. “But, I’ll write for sure. And keep me updated on Harry, okay? I know he won’t write.”

Draco nodded, feeling his cheeks heat a little as she pulled away. 

“I will,” Draco said, his voice a little high. He cleared his throat. “Till next time.”

Draco turned and headed over to the hidden spot Narcissa had found to Apparate home. He gripped his mother’s arm and waited for the horrible squeezing sensation to pull him back to Grimmauld Place. 

* * *

_A/N: The end. Thank you for sticking with me and this story. To those who commented, thanks! I love hearing what y'all think._

_I’ve got quite a bit of the “major” plot point in book five written (it’s been written for over a year now, actually), but I do not have much else written. (Not even the end, shocker, I know.) I’ll start to post once I catch up with what I’ve got written. I don’t want to leave y’all hanging for unknown amounts of time again. I’ve learned my lesson. So, till the next story, adios._


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